


brightest nights

by Beini



Series: Dragons to the East [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Espionage, Gen, M/M, Mystery, Politics, Shadowhunters Fusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25436560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beini/pseuds/Beini
Summary: Jungkook Jeon thought he knew what he fought for, thought he knew the enemy he was meant to face. But a seemingly routine mission to protect Seokjin Kim, the High Warlock of Seoul, draws him into a world that until now he had only seen from afar.For better or for worse, what he finds in the Downworld may challenge the very foundations of all he believed to be true, forever.
Relationships: Jeon Jungkook/Kim Seokjin | Jin, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope & Kim Seokjin | Jin, Kim Namjoon | RM & Kim Seokjin | Jin
Series: Dragons to the East [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926850
Comments: 26
Kudos: 80





	1. Preface

During Jungkook's debrief, his mind drifted. He had already given his report and found not guilty of negligence or reckless endangerment concerning the death of his two comrades. Daehee gave her account while Bom looked at her squad leader with concern. It was unlike him to be so absent during a debrief, but his mind kept conjuring up images of night black scales and sky blue eyes.

* * *

_Their battle ended, as all battles eventually did, with the last demon cut down by Jungkook’s own hand. It could have lasted minutes or hours; in the thick of it it was hard to tell._

_“Report in,” Jungkook croaked into the small communication device in his war._

_“Clear,” Kyungsoo groaned._

_“Clear,” said Daehee, stumbling over to her injured parabatai._

_“Clear.”_

_“Clear.”_

_“Clear.”_

_“Casualties?” Jungkook demanded, pulling out his steele. Each rune felt different when activated and an Iratze was one of his least favorite. The sensation was not unlike someone injecting liquid nitrogen straight into his veins. He gasped involuntarily, shoulders slumping as the rune did its work._

_“Two dead, one wounded,” Wheein said dispassionately. The unfortunate reality of war was that nephilim were accustomed to losing friends, family members, and lovers in battle._

_“Status?”_

_“Critical, yaoguai venom. If it’s the one I’m familiar with then it can only be healed by a demonic magic.” Wheein’s distaste at the idea of having to rely on a Downworlder was evident._

_“Shit,” Jungkook muttered. It wasn’t exactly a disaster of a first mission but not ideal either. “Wheein, Kyungsoo, Jaewon, Xiaochen, get the bodies back to the institute and file your reports with Command. Stay sharp, more demons will be drawn by the scent of blood. Daehee, Bom, you’re with me. According to our intel, the High Warlock of Seoul isn’t far from here. Haechan, can you stand?”_

_Haechan, who sat slumped against the dingy brick wall of the alleyway, tried and failed to push himself to his feet with a wince. “Honestly, I can’t feel my legs.” Fear shook his voice. Haechan was the youngest of their squadron and this was probably his first serious injury. Jungkook crouched in front of the teenager and made sure to meet his eyes._

_“You’re going to be fine, Haechan. You heard Wheein, the warlock will heal you and you’ll be good as new. Daehee, help him up.” Together, he and Daehee hoisted the injured teenager upright between them with an arm slung over each shoulder. “Bom, cover us.” She notched a bolt and followed behind them, head swiveling left and right in alertness._

_Downworlder residences were easy to spot amongst mundane society for they were usually heavily warded. Some wards were more aggressive than others, even going so far as to physically bar nephilim from even reaching the door, but the ones surrounding the residence of the High Warlock of Seoul were relatively neutral. Jungkook might have even gone so far as to say welcoming, if such a thing were possible for Downworlders. He pounded on the front door, hyper aware of Haechan’s weight becoming heavier and heavier in his arms as he began to lose consciousness, head rolling on his neck._

_The man who opened the door looked more mundane than many of the warlocks that Jungkook had come into contact with (not that that number was very high to begin with). He wore modern clothes with no makeup or extravagant hairstyles. He was tall, possibly taller than Jungkook with square broad shoulders and a soft jaw. A heavy-looking pair of golden earrings studded with shining red jewels hung from his earlobes, swaying as if blown by wind. The only remarkable thing about him was his warlock mark. Most warlocks hid theirs, out of shame or practicality Jungkook cared not, but the High Warlock of Seoul wore his proudly for everyone to bare witness to. Flinty scales like polished obsidian littered every visible piece of skin and crept up around his eyes and temples. His eyes shone like the clear blue sky, irises slitted vertically like those of a reptile. Jungkook felt a sneer curling on his lips before he could stop himself. Downworlders disgusted him, and were Haechan not most certainly dying Jungkook would have insisted on finding another solution to heal his wound._

_“High Warlock Seokjin Kim, we are nephilim of the Seoul and Busan Institutes in need of assistance. By order of Article 45 Section B of the 2015 Clave-Downworlder Accords you are mandated by law—“_

_The warlock waved away his words, “I know what Article 45 Section B of the accords says. Enter.” He stepped aside to let them in. As they limped inside, Jeongguk could feel the wards resisting their entry, like trying to run under water._

_“Who is it?” A voice from within asked. Bom aimed her crossbow at the source of the voice faster than the blink of an eye. The source, another young man with honey blond hair and plush lips, raised his hands in a universal I-mean-no-harm gesture._

_High Warlock Kim clicked his teeth and banished their weapons with the careless twitch of a finger. “None of that. You will get your weapons back upon leaving, but I will not have violence in my home.”_

_“Ugh, Shadowhunters.” The second man wrinkled his nose, slipping over to the warlock’s side._

_“Yeah, we’re not so fond of your kind either, Downworlder,” Daehee snarled, already on edge with her parabatai fading fast in her arms._

_Ridiculously, the man sticks his tongue out at them from his hiding spot behind the warlock. “I’m human, stupid.”_

_“Jimin,” said High Warlock Kim quietly, tone chastising yet also amused. “Go upstairs please.”_

_“I’ll be in the library, yell if you need me.” With a parting glare, Jimin left._

_The divan tucked against one corner of the open living space melted into a surgical table. “Put him there.” They heaved him onto the table and Haechan whimpered at the movement, squirming with pain._

_“It’s okay, Haechan, you’re okay. Just breathe.” Daehee gripped his hand tightly, lifting the other to stroke the hair matted with sweat and viscera off of his forehead._

_“No games, warlock,” Jeongguk rumbles, wishing he still had his seraph blade with him. The High Warlock did not react, other than leaning over Haechan’s trembling form to examine the wound. Jungkook could tell that Haechan was scared, not just of dying, but of what the warlock could do to him. Every day it was drilled into their heads that Downworlders were abominations, that they were evil and immoral, and would gladly harm a nephilim given the chance. Haechan was staring directly in the eyes of his worst nightmare._

_“May I?” High Warlock Kim asked gently, indicating to lift Haechan’s shirt._

_Daehee nodded. “Do what you must.”_

_When he plucked at the soaked material, it made a sickening wet sound upon divorcing from the wound._

_“This must hurt quite a lot,” he said, speaking directly to Haechan at that moment. “You have been very brave, rest now.” An inexplicable wave of calm rolled over Jungkook so strong he nearly dropped to his knees, eyes drooping to half mast. It must have been the warlock’s magic putting Haechan to sleep. Shaking himself awake, he glared at the warlock, not that the warlock took any notice._

_“Did it work? Did you heal him?” Daehee demanded._

_“Not yet, but this next part would have been painful had I not put him to sleep. It will be easier this way.” Then, he breathed in deeply, and on the exhale, pushed. That was the only way Jungkook could describe what he saw and felt. Although the magic was not happening to him, he felt it all the same. It was like laying down in a fresh stream after a long day in the burning sun to feel the smooth pebbles under your spine; like the first taste of life after dying of the thirst in the desert; it was like the rushing tumbling roar of water as it flung itself gleefully over the stone cliffs only to meet the calmer pool below. Jungkook smelled the ocean of his home in Busan and tasted the salt on his lips._

_And as quickly as it had begun it was over. Jungkook was no expert at healing magic but Haechan was already breathing easier, the wrinkle of skin between his brows gone out as he fell into a deeper, more restful sleep. Daehee breathed out a sob, laying her forehead to his chest and thanking the Angel._

_Jungkook had to bodily shake himself from the spell that High Warlock Kim had cast over the room, still imagining the water running over his skin._

_He had been taught all his life to fear and shun warlocks in equal measure. He was taught that they squandered their gifts to chase their hedonistic desires: money, sex, drugs, power. He did not know that warlocks could be like this. That they could heal instead of harm, and put aside their baser demonic instincts to help others. Jungkook thought of the warlock he put down just last month for reportedly violating the accords. He asked no questions, merely took orders like a good little soldier._

_“You are also injured. Allow me to help you.”_

_“I’m fine,” Jungkook dismissed. “We need to get back.”_

_“Please.” High Warlock Kim held out one hand as if Jungkook would take it. “It will only take a moment.”_

_“Don’t touch me, warlock,” Jungkook ground out through clenched teeth, taking a step back although the warlock had not moved an inch._

_“My name is Seokjin,” said the warlock, hand dropping to his side._

_“I don’t care,” Jungkook snapped. Hypervigilant and on edge, he had no time for the warlock’s mind games. “Give us back our weapons.”_

_As if they had never disappeared Bom’s crossbow, Daehee’s long bow and Jungkook’s seraph blade were returned to them. Daehee handed her bow and quiver to Bom, activated her strength rune and carefully lifted Haechan over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Nodding at the rest of the group, they made their leave._

_“I will invoice the Institute, then?” the warlock called out to their backs. Jungkook snorted derisively, how presumptuous. High Warlock or not, he should be honored that his demonic powers were used to heal a child of the Angel. Not deigning to answer, they made their way back onto the street and eventually, to the Institute._

* * *

Jungkook was not attracted to the Downworlder, to be as such was beneath him and the thought alone was faintly revolting, but perhaps he was … fascinated. The warlock—Seokjin—was different than the others. It made Jungkook wonder, could there be others like Seokjin? But just as quickly he denounced the thought.

The High Warlock of Seoul was the exception not the rule, but none of it mattered because their paths would never cross again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert: they meet again. 
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seokjjinnie98) if u want


	2. Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jungkook is none-too-happy to receive his mission, and all is not as it appears when his mentor asks him for a particular favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my amazing betas,  [Jyyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jyyn/pseuds/Jyyn),  
> [peach_oolong_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peach_oolong_tea/pseuds/peach_oolong_tea), and [MOGICORE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MOGICORE/pseuds/MOGICORE)! Any remaining typos are my own fault

“You’re kidding,” Jungkook said, voice flat. His jaw was clenched so hard that he was in danger of cracking a tooth, hands tightened into fists on his top of his thighs. When the head of the Seoul Institute had demanded an audience with him several days after Jungkook had finished his first lead mission, he hadn’t imagined that this would be his next task. 

Hualian Kang, the head of the Seoul Institute, had the sort of face that strongly deterred any sort of back talk. With a set of wild curls tamed into a ruthlessly tight bun and a stern set of lips pressed into a near-constant frown.

Born and raised in China but brought over to South Korea by her relatives after her parents were murdered by a rabid werewolf, she had to claw and fight for everything that she had because nothing was given for free or easily. She ran the Institute like she was born to do it, calm authority radiating from every pore. 

Hualian raised an eyebrow at Jungkook’s insubordinate tone but did not reprimand him. 

“Do I appear to be kidding?” 

No, she did not, which made this all the more unbelievable. Jungkook bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out.  _ Protecting a Downworlder? _ he thought. _ What reason could a Downworlder possibly have to need protecting, and for the order to come from the Conclave no less?  _

“You have questions. Ask,” Hualian said, observing the tightly wound tension in all of Jungkook’s muscles. 

“I would not presume to question the decisions of the Conclave,” he gritted out. 

“It is not illegal to disagree with an assignment, Lieutenant Jeon. I don’t know how the Busan institute ran things, but here in Seoul you are allowed to ask questions, so long as you are polite about it.” 

“Why him? Why this mission?”

“The High Warlock of Seoul has been an essential liaison between the Downworld and the Clave for hundreds of years. Someone wants him dead. The threats have been increasing in frequency and specificity, so much so that he felt the need to file a report with the institute.”

“Shouldn’t a High Warlock be strong enough to protect himself?” 

“Even the oldest warlocks are not all-powerful. They bleed and die just like we do. Additionally, the High Warlock of Seoul has a peculiar aversion to violence and as such knows very little battle magic, or so I am told. His talents lie in other areas.” 

_ Like healing _ , Jungkook thought, shivering a little at the remembered sensations of the warlock’s magic. 

“So you chose me.”

“So I chose you. Relations between the Downworld and Nephilim would suffer immensely if something were to happen to him, so the Conclave has requested that I ensure his safety. Imagine if the Downworld saw one of its leaders cut down knowing that we failed to prevent it. At the least, there would be civil unrest. Some might even use it as a pretense to start a war. You are the very best this Institute has to offer, so I am entrusting this to you.” 

Jungkook just barely refrained from snorting. No amount of flattery would not alleviate the situation.

“According to your report, you met him the other day, did you not? What did you think of him?” Jungkook blinked, taken aback by the fact that Hualian genuinely seemed interested in his answer, as if his opinion had any bearing on whether or not he would carry out the mission. 

“Truthfully, I didn’t think anything of him. He healed Haechan and we left shortly after.” 

“You must be wondering why I bothered to give you this assignment personally.” 

He was. Hualian Kang’s expression morphed from congenial to gravely serious, dark brown eyes staring fathomessly into his. “I want to impress upon you the importance of this mission, Lieutenant Jeon. As the head of this Institute, and as Seokjin’s friend, I will not tolerate failure. You will do this mission, and you will do it  _ right _ . Am I understood?” 

“Yes.” 

“Your commanding officer will give you the rest of the details. Dismissed.” 

Jungkook stood, saluted, and all but ran out of Hualian Kang’s office before he said something he would regret. His long legs ate up the ground beneath him as he stormed across the institute to locate his commanding officer, indignation rolling off him in waves. It was absurd that Hualian Kang couldn’t see what gross misappropriation of resources this assignment was. Jungkook should have been out defending the world from demons like he had been trained to do, what he did best. The affairs of the Downworld were none of his concern. So what if they wanted to kill each other? Let them, less problems for him and his fellow Nephilim. 

Wrapped up in his seething anger, Jungkook nearly ran straight into Xiaochen, who was rounding the corner at the same moment. 

“Whoa,” Xiaochen said. “In a hurry, sir?” 

Jungkook ducked his head and avoided eye contact with Xioachen, no longer in the mood to entertain any conversation. “Yeah, sorry.” He turned corner into the hallway that would lead him to the command center where Captain Bang would most likely be. He found his commanding officer hunched over her desk, glaring at a mission report like it had insulted her mother. Before approaching, Jungkook closed his eyes and took several breaths to calm himself.  _ Insubordinate behavior was not tolerated _ . 

He approached the desk at a more sedate pace, clearing his throat politely when she

failed to notice him at first. 

In another lifetime, Minjung Bang could have been a model, or an actress, or anything she wanted, really. Born with the sort of features that mundanes—and sometimes, in secret, Shadowhunters as well—went under a surgical knife to achieve, her cheekbones sat high atop her face, emphasizing its heart shape. In all her photographs going back to when she was a little girl, you could spot the same dainty nose, narrow chin, and solemn gray eyes.

Only a series of jagged scars across her eyes and the upper bridge of her nose caused by demon ichor ruined the illusion of any other future, a physical reminder of the accident that had put her here behind this desk instead of out in the field. Her reading glasses, the lenses nearly a centimeter thick, slipped over the bridge of her nose as she looked up. Minjung Bang had a brilliant tactical mind, but it was hard to see how she had been raised a warrior.  Her situational awareness that had been problematic before her injury stood in emphasis now as she squinted at him from over her desk.

“Ah, Lieutenant Jeon! Yes, yes, Hualian told me to expect you. Please, step into my office.” Her office being a smaller fold-up chair. Captain Bang began to sift through several teetering piles of folders, mumbling all the while about how unorganized she was. Jungkook did not comment, despite thinking much the same thing. Finally, she pulled out a thin manila envelope with a triumphant  _ aha! _

“Here we are, mission SI-2020-PD-0005.” ‘SI’ for their Institute in Seoul, 2020 for the year, ‘PD’ for Protection Detail, and 0005 for how many of this type of job the Institute had taken on. Jungkook’s assignment was the fifth of that year, four more than Jungkook had imagined would be. Shadowhunters’ skills and abilities were wasted, in Jungkook’s opinion, on simple security detail missions. He wondered what the previous four jobs had been, Downworlders as well? Or perhaps high ranking members of the East Asian Conclave? 

Jungkook thanked Captain Bang, who told him to come see her if he had any questions after reading the file, and went back to his room to brief himself on the mission. The file was large, several pages larger than any of the files Jungkook had previously seen on the Downworlders that the Institute kept tabs on. Jungkook resolved to skim through for the most important information.

The first page of the intelligence report was general information on the High Warlock of Seoul that the Institute has gathered over the years (or, more accurately, centuries). In the top left corner of the page sat a dated black-and-white photo of the warlock posed in a traditional male hanbok, a black  _ gat _ sat tall upon his head. Height, weight, and distinctive physical features were all listed in excruciating detail, including his warlock mark. Currently the High Warlock of Seoul went by Seokjin Kim, and his original birth name was listed as ‘unknown’. No one knew his exact age either but the best estimate was at least 700 years old, which made Jungkook pause in surprise. 

Warlocks, as they aged, grew more powerful, not unlike a fox collecting tails. Therefore, meticulous records were kept of the ones that passed 600, as long as they did not retreat from society. Their whereabouts, financials, and acquaintances were all accounted for, if possible. The High Warlock of Seoul’s record raised no immediate red flags: his substantial wealth had accumulated through entirely legal means (mostly long-term investments, as was common with immortal Downworlders), none of his known acquaintances were known extremists or career criminals, and his movements for the past three decades could have been classified as positively mundane. 

He worked as the owner of a homeopathic medicinal shop, and many of his trips were between home and his workplace. Occasionally he would travel to Idris, the Shadowhunter homeland, on business to assist in the maintenance of the anti-demon wards that surrounded the city. 

The last section of the warlock’s file, as was standard with all files, listed his known magical abilities and weaknesses, which, at a glance, included the brewing of healing potions and, conversely, poisons, as well as divination. 

Jungkook skipped over the following sections on his history, not interested in the personal details. Only information that would affect how Jungkook guarded him was relevant. As for details of the mission itself, four separate threats had been levied against him before the Conclave felt the need to intervene. Two of the threats were delivered in person, like warning shots firing into the night. The first occurred two months ago when he was “mugged” at knife-point, a pretext to tell the warlock to abandon his campaign to amend the Accords or face graver consequences. Three weeks later, when it became clear that the warlock would not back down, he was almost flattened by a particularly aggressive mundane vehicle while grocery shopping.

Whoever was out for his blood was smart enough to make the attempts seem like freak accidents, and mundane ones at that. Eyes jumping further down the page, Jungkook saw that the warlock was pushing for an amendment that would expand membership of the World Council to hold an equal number of Nephilim and Downworlders. He rolled his eyes–how typical of Downworlders to demand for more after they had already been given so much; forty years ago, having Downworlders on the World Council would have been unimaginable. But it would never be good enough for them, would it? 

At the warlock’s insistence that he not draw attention to himself, Jungkook would be the only one assigned to his protection. He would have to live in the warlock’s residence to be able to provide protection twenty-four seven, and the duration of the assignment was indefinite, until the person or persons trying to kill the warlock were found. That grated on Jungkook’s nerves; he wouldn’t know how long he would have to keep up this farce of a mission. Jungkook was to report to the warlock’s residence as soon as he had been briefed. 

Which was right now. Jungkook  _ wanted  _ to have questions, anything to delay the beginning of this assignment, but it was about as straightforward as a mission could be. 

Rising from his desk, he began to pack, assuming that he wouldn’t be able to return to the institute until his assignment was over. He folded and refolded several shirts and pretended that it was because they didn’t fit right in the suitcase the first time instead of him dragging his feet. Despite repeating this with every piece of clothing he owned, Jungkook still finished a mere ten minutes later. All that he possessed could fit into one suitcase. Lastly, he grabbed another empty bag to stash any weapons he would need and headed down to the armory. 

One of the junior weapon masters supplied him with a couple of stealth weapons that he could store on his person, as well as a twin pair of retractable shields, fresh from Research and Development. On his way out, he received a fire message from Senior Representative Seo to come see him in his office. 

He turned the paper over in his hands, but it gave him no answers other than a time. What could Hyuntae want to see Jungkook about? This type of mission was not the type he usually took interest in. All Jungkook had done today was get shuttled from one part of the institute to the next, and he was in a worse mood for it. Hiking his second bag over his shoulder and thanking the junior weapon master again, Jungkook headed for the West Wing of the Institute where most of the administrative offices were. Unlike the barracks that were utilitarian at best, the administrative offices were elaborate; with heavy wooden doors the color of crushed insects studded with metal pyramids as large as his fist and designs of jade green and gold lining the intricate ceilings. 

Jungkook lifted the heavy brass knocker once and let it fall. A muted voice told him to enter. Hyuntae Seo, Senior Representative for the East Asian Conclave and current sitting World Council Member, rose from his position behind his large desk upon seeing Jungkook, a gentle smile gracing his lips. Jungkook tilted his head in a shallow bow, some of the bitterness at his unfair mission fading from his mind, and shook the hand Hyuntae proffered in his direction. 

“Jungkook. Come sit. I’ll be brief, I know that you have a mission to report to.” Hyuntae gestured to the plush guest chairs on the other side of his desk. When Jungkook lowered himself into the chair, with the familiar feel of perforated leather beneath his palms, he could almost pretend that this was a normal meeting. That he was debriefing with Hyuntae after banishing a horde of Shax demons and afterwards, he would be going to sharpen his blades, or sit in on a training session of the younger cadets, or do any of the usual things that made up his life at the Seoul institute.

“You are assigned to protect the High Warlock of Seoul,” said Hyuntae, shattering that illusion. Jungkook wondered how far the news of his assignment had traveled, as Hyuntae phrased it more like a statement than a question. Then again, it wasn’t unusual for representatives to feel the need to be kept abreast of the daily workings of their Institutes. 

“Yes.” He straightened in his seat. 

“I would like you to do something for me while on your mission.” 

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “On the books, sir?” 

Hyuntae looked sheepish in the face of the question, if such a thing were possible for a man like him. “Not exactly. This would be more of a … personal favor. What do you know of Seokjin Kim?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Very little, sir. I met him once, but our interaction was brief.” 

“We have reason to believe that his demonic father has recently reached out to him and that together, they may be plotting to undermine the Clave.”

At the Academy, Jungkook was taught that all warlocks eventually gave in to their demonic nature. If his father had demanded his help, the High Warlock of Seoul would surely heed his call. Depending on who his father was, a greater demon—or worse, one of the Kings of Hell—their collaboration could be ruinous for all the good work that the Clave had done. 

The fact that Hyuntae felt that this High Warlock was important enough—or dangerous enough—to keep tabs on him and risk an off-the-books mission told Jungkook all that he needed to know. Hyuntae meant business and therefore, so did Jungkook. “What do you need from me?”

“Nothing dangerous, nothing that you won’t already be doing. Keep an eye on the warlock, who he interacts with, his comings and goings, any conversations you deem pertinent. Report back to me and I will handle the rest.” 

That sounded simple enough, even if it seemed counterproductive seeing as the Institute already kept tabs on the warlock. Jungkook didn’t know how useful his information would be and he didn’t understand why Hyuntae insisted on keeping it off the books. If Jungkook  _ did  _ find something that was not already in the warlock’s files, it would be prudent for the Institute to be made aware.  _ Especially _ if it concerned the warlock’s demon parentage.

Some of the hesitation must have shown on his face because Hyuntae leaned back with a sigh that could be interpreted as disappointment, arms crossing over his broad chest. 

“I understand of course, if you do not feel up to completing this task. It will have to be kept off the books and I would  _ never  _ ask of you something you were uncomfortable with. I suppose I could put Lyla on reconnaissance instead, or Jihoon.” 

“No!” Jungkook leaned forward in his seat, fingers clutched around the armrests. “I can do it. Please, let me.” 

Hyuntae smiled a winsome smile. “That’s my boy. Here.” He pulled a latched wooden box out from under his desk and nestled inside were two leather-bound journals with runes for communication, stealth, transmission, as well as others that Jungkook didn’t recognize burned into the covers. 

“These journals were commissioned from a Soviet warlock who specializes in covert communication. Whatever you write in one will appear in the other and the messages will erase themselves completely after twenty-four hours. Untraceable, even by warlock magic. Perfect for an undercover mission such as yours. Cost me a pretty penny too, but it was worth it.” 

Jungkook reached out to take one of the notebooks. Grabbing one of the pens propped up on Hyuntae’s desk he scribbled a quick message on the first blank page. Hyuntae looked at his own journal with avid interest as the script slowly transcribed itself in the same position as in Jungkook’s journal. He showed Jungkook the page with a satisfied smile. 

“Works like a charm. That will be all, Lieutenant Jeon. Good luck on your mission, take care of yourself out there. You’re entering the dragon’s den.” 

“I will, sir. Thank you, sir.” Jungkook rose, pocketing the journal.

“Oh, and Jungkook?” Hyuntae called out just as Jungkook crossed the doorway and he paused, turning to look back. 

“Thank you for this. You have no idea how much it means to the Clave.” 

Jungkook had never fought in battle with Hyuntae, but he imagined Hyuntae’s expression to be how he might look while facing down a Greater Demon. Shoulders squared and weight balanced like he could lunge forward at any moment, eyes alert to absorb every detail. It comforted Jungkook to have someone as steady as Hyuntae to rely on. He hoped that one day to be able to return the favor. 

“Of course, you can count on me, sir.” 

On his way out of the Institute, Jungkook activated his Unseen rune to navigate through the crowds of mundanes without being bothered. People liked to stare, especially at his runes, which mundanes usually referred to as “tattoos”. It saved everyone the time and trouble; Jungkook couldn’t be bothered to come up with a proper lie to explain them away, and mundanes came to their own conclusions, even going so far as to imply that he was in a cult or gang. 

Seokjin Kim’s residence, already etched in Jungkook’s memory after one visit, was a stone’s throw from the Institute, no more than fifteen minutes by foot. The same welcoming wards greeted him at the entrance. As he raised his hand to ring the doorbell, the door opened. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so?? what does everyone think? 
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seokjjinnie98) if u want


	3. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jungkook and Seokjin's first interaction ends at an impasse; Seokjin tests Jungkook's loyalty to see where his head and heart truly lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for violence, both referenced and in real time but neither case is very graphic

Seokjin felt a tension headache beginning to form just behind his left eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted. Byulyi and Namjoon had devolved into shouting at each other from opposite corners of the kitchen while preparing finger foods and tea for Seokjin’s guests. Hoseok just looked on with a mild grimace on his face. They had circled this argument a thousand times and would probably circle it a thousand times more before this was all over, but that didn’t stop them from going at it like cocks in a metal ring. 

“The Council will never accept those terms, and you know it,” said Byulyi tersely while dividing the tea evenly between four porcelain cups. 

“Then the Council can go fuck themselves,” he snarled back, the gesture paradoxically wild in contrast to the delicateness with which he sliced the crusts off of the sandwiches. “Why should we have to _beg_ for our rights like dogs for scraps? _Oh please, great master Nephilim,_ ” Namjoon pressed together in a pose of prayer, “ _please allow this humble, lowly Downworlder to vote—_ ”

Byulyi shook her head although her lips twitched in a way that meant she was trying not to smile. She lifted the tray and walked back into the living room, ignoring Namjoon. 

“— _what say you, master Nephilim? Perhaps? Ask again in a century? How unbelievably kind of you, truly your magnanimity knows no bounds—_ ”

“Namjoon,” Seokjin called out, putting a stop to his goading before Byulyi turned him into a worm, an experience that neither Seokjin nor Namjoon were eager to repeat. Then, he thanked Byulyi for the tea and took a sip. It was blessedly strong and hot enough to burn Seokjin’s tongue, but Lilith knew he needed it. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours a night in months, and with the vote just six months away sleep would probably continue to elude him. 

“I’m not sorry,” Namjoon proclaimed hotly, near slamming the tray of cucumber sandwiches on the table between them and snatching his own tea cup from the tray still in Byulyi’s hands. 

“No, you’re just stupidly naive. This,” she slapped a hand down over their amendment proposal, a mere twenty pages but held within it, the possibility of a brighter future, “is the best way to ensure that the amendment passes, which will lay the groundwork for future laws and structural changes. Anything more will get shot down and we will have to start all over. Is that what you want? To set us back nearly two decades?” 

Namjoon opened his mouth to retort but got cut off by a look from Seokjin. 

“Namjoon, we have been over this forwards and backwards and every other way there is to go over it. _This_ proposal is how we will achieve meaningful change, and if you do not like it, you are free to leave at any time.” Seokjin admired Namjoon’s youthful idealism and passion for civil rights, but his bullheadedness certainly became draining at times. 

It was no secret that the official proposal had been stripped of nearly all of the more forward-thinking changes after having gone through several rounds of negotiations, but the heart of it was still alive. They knew at the start of this campaign that compromises would have to be made, that they wouldn’t get all of the things they asked for, but now they had a real shot at passing this amendment. Seokjin refused to let anyone or anything get in the way of that, even his closest friends. 

Namjoon slouched into his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, acting every bit the petulant teenager he appeared to be physically. Seokjin merely raised an eyebrow. 

“Well?” 

It took a painfully long minute for Namjoon to reply. “Fine, whatever. Just know that I don’t like it.” 

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Consider your complaint registered.” Then suddenly, he straightened up, eyes lasering in on the front door. “I smell angel blood, there’s a Shadowhunter approaching.” Seokjin’s wards hadn’t alerted him to any presence yet so they must have still been a few blocks away. Most likely the protection detail he had been strong armed into requesting from the Seoul Institute. 

“That is fine, we are basically done for today,” said Seokjin. He prepared the two proposals to be sent off to Representatives Khomo and Flores, the current sitting World Council members for the Sub Saharan African and South American Conclaves respectively, in hopes that this would be the last time they needed to amend it. 

Namjoon, who sat slumped into the chair opposite Seokjin, slurped his tea moodily. 

A presence asserted itself at his front door. “The Shadowhunter is here,” Seokjin said, rather redundantly, for all the Downworlders could sense the Shadowhunter one way or another. 

“Allow me,” said Hoseok, sliding gracefully past Seokjin before he could stop him. 

“Behave, Hoseok,” Seokjin warned. He did not need the Shadowhunter scared off before the job even began.

The vampire turned back to Seokjin, eyes wide with faux innocence as if to say _who, me?_ , then winked. “Don’t I always?” He ripped open the door to reveal a Shadowhunter whose hand was still raised as if getting ready to knock. Hoseok’s body blocked most of Seokjin’s view but it appeared to be a male. 

“You’re not the High Warlock,” stated the Shadowhunter. 

“I’m not? Are you sure?” Hoseok replied, cocking his head to one side. “I could be, if that’s who you’re looking for.” Byulyi snorted before she could stop herself. Seokjin supposed it was too optimistic of him to ask Hoseok to be anything other than what he was.

“Stop messing around. Is he here? I am Lieutenant Jungkook Jeon of the Seoul Institute and I have been sent to—”

Hoseok cut off the Shadowhunter— _Jungkook_ —with a yawn, “Boring. Cute but boring. Seokjin, your pet Shadowhunter is here!” Finally, the vampire stepped aside to let the other man inside.

The Shadowhunter that the Institute sent to guard him was the young squad leader who had demanded assistance a few days prior. Jungkook looked wary as he stepped inside, appraising the three warlocks and vampire in his presence. Namjoon and Byulyi had come to position themselves at Seokjin's right and left shoulders, standing guard like sentinels. A gesture that was appreciated, if unnecessary. 

To his right, Namjoon snorted as he too, took in the Shadowhunter. “How cute, they sent an infant to protect you.” Jungkook _was_ young, pockets of baby-fat still lingered around his cheeks and jaw. _Quick to anger too_ , Seokjin thought, noting the way his nostrils flared and hands clenched into fists. 

“Shadowhunters are trained from near birth to fight. I may be young by your standards, but rest assured, I am more than capable,” Jungkook ground out.

“You’re one to talk,” Byulyi retorted, practically ignoring Jungkook. “You’re basically an infant yourself.”

Namjoon whirled on her. “No one asked you, old hag!” 

“You need to learn to respect your fucking elders. But for once, I agree with Namjoon. They send you one measly Shadowhunter who’s basically fresh out of diapers to protect a High Warlock? What are they trying to pull?” 

“If you must know, _I_ was the one who requested having a reduced guard so as not to draw attention to myself—” Seokjin explained. 

“With that stink?” Hoseok interrupted, “Not likely.” 

“Who cares,” Namjoon dismissed. “Lilith knows the Conclave only agreed so they could cover their asses if something _does_ happen. It’s no secret that they’ve had it out for Seokjin for years.” All the while Jungkook was becoming visibly more and more agitated, eyes darting from one person to the other as they continued to denounce the Clave. 

“Jesus Christ, it is like babysitting toddlers with you three. Get out of my house,” Seokjin said, attempting to remain calm. 

“Ooh, you made him say the J word!” Hoseok crowed. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jungkook asked abruptly. All conversation grinded to a halt and, as if they suddenly remembered his presence, the Downworlders turned to face him. 

“The J word? It’s pretty self-explanatory…” 

“Not that. What that one said about the Clave.” Jungkook’s chin jerked in Namjoon’s direction. 

“That one?” Namjoon squawked, indignant. “I have a name you know—”

“You’re not insinuating that the _Conclave_ has something to do with the threats on the High Warlock’s life, are you? Because that’s ludicrous, we are trying to help your kind—”

“Aw, it’s cute that you think the Clave is above murdering their political enemies,” cooed Hoseok. 

“They would never stoop so low.” 

At this Hoseok barked out a brittle laugh, genuinely amused by the Shadowhunter’s conviction. “They can and they have.” He turned to Seokjin. “Well this has been fun and all but I need to be somewhere where he’s not! Make me a portal, babe?” That was Hoseok to a T, flighty and joking one moment, deadly serious the next.

“We should go too,” said Byulyi, grabbing Namjoon by the bicep.

“Let me go, your talons fucking hurt—”

“I’ll update you with any progress.” And with that, she dragged Namjoon through the portal. Likewise, Seokjin made a portal for Hoseok, then he and Jungkook were alone. 

Leisurely, he looked the Shadowhunter up and down. Any expression of personality was stamped out by the utilitarian nephilim uniform and haircut (black and close-cropped, respectively). Jungkook’s jacket hid most of his runes, save for ones peering through above the collar of his shirt. Seokjin could make out the curved hook edge of the Angelic rune above his heart, and an Awareness rune wrapped looping from his neck to the base of his skull. He looked young. Then again so did practically everyone to Seokjin these days. 

“I will confess I had expected them to assign someone with a little more … experience. How old are you?” 

Seokjin asked the question not so much to know the response (he already knew enough basic information, passed on from Hualian), but to know _how_ Jungkook would respond. Seokjin’s nature was to probe until a person revealed their inner selves.

“How old are _you_?” Jungkook shot back. If Jungkook’s tone were not so actively hostile, his petulance might have been quaint. 

Even though they’d barely exchanged a full conversation, Seokjin could already see the lines of his life written in the vitriol of his words and the tenseness of his shoulders. He had encountered leagues of the Shadowhunter’s type, anointed with the holiness of their mission from the angel Raziel, young and eager to prove themselves, and most obviously, an inherent contempt for all things demon-related. He was not an ideal person to have as a bodyguard; however, there were benefits to the blind loyalty that the Clave tended to cultivate. Seokjin could only hope that Jungkook was among those Nephilim who took his orders seriously, even if that included doing something he did not agree with.

“You do not already know? Surely the Institute has a file with all that information in it.” 

Jungkook spluttered, momentarily caught off guard. “You know about those?” 

Seokjin could not help but smile, a barely there twitch of lips. “Was it supposed to be a secret? Nephilim are not as subtle as you would like to think. So? How old am I?” 

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at Seokjin. “Seokjin Kim, High Warlock of Seoul for approximately thirty years. Age estimated to be around 700. Presumed to be born on the Korean peninsula.” 

_Not bad_ , Seokjin thought, _though not altogether unsurprising_. The Institute’s file on him was exactly what he allowed them to know. 

“Jungkook Jeon. Raised in the Busan Institute but transferred to Seoul at 17 years old. Current age is 23. No parabatai. Recently promoted to Lieutenant. Congratulations.” 

“Why do you know that?” 

“Hm, let us just say I got a feeling after our encounter the other day and did a little digging.” 

“A _feeling_ , huh. Divination was listed as one of your specialties.” Jungkook looked less unsettled than earlier, more calculating and cautious.

“You catch on quickly.” 

“Quicker than most.” 

The air between them hummed with an electric sort of tension. Seokjin could tell that the young nephilim was reappraising him at the same time that he was trying to get a read on his new cohabitant. Seokjin almost wanted to extend the moment, to poke and prod to watch him squirm but figured that there would be more time for that later on.

“Follow me, I will show you to your room.” Then he turned to go up to the second floor without waiting for Jungkook. Behind him, Jungkook’s footsteps were nearly silent, an impressive feat, considering the heavy boots Seokjin had spotted and the age of the floorboards of his apartment. The guest room was two doors down Seokjin’s own bedroom, separated by his lab and his library. It was plain almost to the point of being bland, with a simple bed, armoire, and a desk, as well as an adjoining bathroom. 

“This is where you will stay. There are sheets and towels in the top drawers and the bathroom should have everything you need. You already saw the kitchen downstairs and the living room. Feel free to eat any of the food in the fridge or cabinets. If there is something else you desire that I do not already have, please let me know, and I will try to get it for you. You are free to use the library as well, and my lab, I suppose, although I do not recommend touching anything in there unless you want to lose a finger. 

“My room is just down the hall, and I would prefer if you stay out of it. I am making pasta tonight, if you wish to join me for dinner. I will leave you to get settled in.” Seokjin wasn’t actually sure if the Shadowhunter would deign to eat dinner with him, but it seemed polite to at least offer. 

“I need to canvas the place for vulnerabilities,” Jungkook said. It seemed like a reasonable request. “Have you ever had a break-in?” 

“Do what you feel you must, and no I have not. My wards are solid.” 

“I’ll still need to do a walk-through.” Seokjin heard the implication clearly in his tone. _If you have anything to hide, I will find it_. He waved a hand, uncaring about what Jungkook thought he would find. If Jungkook came across something not meant for public eyes the internal wards rigged up by Appoline would divert him away, and besides that, nothing of vital importance was kept in the house anyway. 

“Feel free.” 

And that was that. Jungkook did not end up joining him for dinner as he predicted, and Seokjin just barely saw enough of him to inform him that Seokjin will be leaving tomorrow at half past nine to open the store at ten. Anxiety and insomnia kept him awake until almost four in the morning when he finally dropped off due to sheer exhaustion. 

* * *

Jungkook had nothing to report during his first night in the warlock’s residence. He hadn’t gotten the names of the other Downworlders he had crossed, nor had he deemed any of their conversation important enough to pass on to Hyuntae. After his initial inspection of the apartment, Jungkook also had to admit that the warlock wasn’t lying when he said that his wards were secure. He could find no conceivable points of entry for an intruder to break in other than the front door or the ceilings, both of which were protected with runes and symbols he did not recognize carved into the wooden frame. He only spared a cursory glance at the potion lab and library, both windowless, and spent the rest of the night listening to the warlock putter around downstairs in his kitchen. 

It was only after High Warlock Kim had finished and retired for the night that Jungkook crept downstairs to make something to eat. To his surprise, the cabinets and refrigerator were filled with fairly normal items: fruits and vegetables, a variety of meats in the freezer, and steel pots and pans. Did the warlock not use magic to make all of his food? Proper nutrition was often prioritized over flavor in the meals served at the Institute cafeteria, so Jungkook was unused to the lavishness of the warlock’s kitchen, but he managed to make a basic pork dish without much issue. 

Jungkook slept restlessly, as he usually did in new places, only this time, he was even more alert in what felt like enemy territory. After waking up for what must have been the fifth time during the night, he abandoned sleep to meditate. It was then that he realized how unnaturally quiet the apartment actually was, something that shouldn’t have been possible in the middle of a large city such as Seoul. At the Institute, someone or something was always making noise. A rusty pipe hissing in protest as it transported hot water to the showers, an overnight patrol freshly off their shift and still hopped up on adrenaline, chattering as they walked the halls. _Maybe the warlock’s wards kept more than people out_ , Jungkook thought. 

At half past eight he was pulled out of his trance-like state by the sounds of the warlock stirring from sleep. Ten minutes after that, he could hear the burble of a kettle heating up water and the gentle thump of cabinet doors being opened and closed. Taking that as his sign to begin getting ready, Jungkook showered and dressed, arming himself properly with his vambraces and balisongs and strapping on his Stele holster last. 

When he went downstairs, High Warlock Kim appeared to be on the phone. His eyes flickered over to Jungkook as Jungkook stepped off the staircase, but otherwise, he did not react. Jungkook could see why he didn’t care if Jungkook overheard, for he was speaking a language that Jungkook had never heard before (and he was conversationally fluent in quite a few). Rolling his eyes, he grabbed a banana from the hanging wicker basket and sat at the island. 

“Good morning,” he greeted after five more minutes on the phone. 

“Morning,” replied Jungkook. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

Was he trying to make small talk? Why? To get Jungkook to let his guard down? Well, it certainly wouldn’t work, he was here for one thing only, and that was to do his job. 

“It is not a trick question,” Seokjin said. “If your accommodations were unsatisfactory I can adjust them.” 

Could the High Warlock read his mind? Did his divination extend to that realm? 

“No, I did not read your mind. Nephilim are simply painfully predictable,” he added, rather arrogantly, in Jungkook’s opinion. He was quickly becoming disillusioned of the idea that perhaps the High Warlock of Seoul was unlike other warlocks. He clearly believed himself to be superior to Jungkook’s kind and looked down on them. Jungkook searched for a way to regain the upper hand.

“Our conversations should be limited to matters concerning the mission. Distractions are counterproductive,” said Jungkook.

“...I see,” he conceded, finally. The kettle squealed on the stove, causing the warlock to turn to tend to his tea. He scooped a small spoonful of matcha powder into a small bowl, then poured the hot water over it, whipping the ingredients into a froth with a small bamboo whisk. As he mixed, the scales on his hands caught and reflected the light, shimmering a rainbow of colors like oil slick on water. The scales seemed to writhe and jump hypnotically, as if they were alive in their own right and trying to break free of the warlock’s skin. It was almost beautiful, in the same way the sun glinted, shining, off the slated scales of a venomous snake. 

“Would you like some tea?” 

“What? No, I don’t want tea.”

“Apologies. You were staring, so I assumed that you wanted to try some. It is a special blend from the Chiran mountains of the Kagoshima prefecture. My friend grows the leaves herself–are you sure you do not want to try it?” 

Was the warlock serious? Blathering on about Japanese tea of all things? 

“No,” Jungkook gritted out, “I don’t want any of your tea.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” 

When it was time to leave, instead of just conjuring a portal, the warlock informed him that they were going to walk to the shop.

“Wouldn’t a portal be easier?” Jungkook questioned before he could stop himself. 

“Easier, perhaps, but I am trying to maintain my figure, so I walk for exercise.” Jungkook searched High Warlock Kim’s face for any sign of a joke, but it was as neutral as ever. Just before he stepped out into the open air, a purple, amorphous cloud of light ran over his body from head to toe. In an instant, all signs of his warlock mark vanished. Blue eyes were replaced with deep brown and his skin became as normal as a mundane’s, pale and markless. Again, Jungkook felt himself staring. 

Without his warlock marks, High Warlock Kim was undeniably attractive, although it churned Jungkook’s stomach to admit as much. Almost attractive enough to override the fact that he possessed demon blood. In the next moment Jungkook relieved himself of the notion. It was wholly indecent for a Shadowhunter to involve themself with a Downworlder in such a way. Besides, all of the glamour in the world couldn’t hide the monster within, and that was not a particular trap that Jungkook felt inclined to fall for.

The first two threats against High Warlock Kim’s life appeared mundane in nature therefore, outside amongst the mundanes was when Jungkook’s task would truly begin. If anything were to happen to him under Jungkook’s care, it would be here. His head was on a constant swivel to take in as much of their surroundings as he could while the warlock continued on his casual stroll as if blissfully ignorant to the danger his life was in. There were so many variables to consider, and any one of the people they passed on the street could be a potential killer. But thankfully, they arrived without incident. 

At the store, Jungkook insisted on going in before High Warlock Kim to check for traps. The warlock’s shop had a fairly open floor plan with few places to hide. Glass jars with products of all types lined the shelves, from single ingredients like ground ginseng and dried sage to tea blends that promised relief for headaches, sleepless nights, upset stomachs, and even anxiety. Nothing, Jungkook noted, appeared particularly magical, Then again, it was illegal for Downworlders to sell magical substances to mundanes. 

Once Jungkook deemed the store clear, he allowed the warlock inside. Jungkook took up position in a corner of the shop from which he could see the majority of the floor and all of the entry and exit points. 

“I can get you a chair …” he offered. “Unless you plan to stand for nine hours straight?” 

“I don’t need it,” said Jungkook. And it was true, he didn’t need a chair. A sitting position would only make him less alert. Plus, nine hours was hardly long at all if he activated his Stamina rune. 

“Suit yourself. I have to go to the back room for a bit, yell if you need something.” Jungkook was left alone. 

Not two minutes later, a young mundane man came out of the same room that the warlock had gone in. He appeared to work at the store, settling comfortably behind the register and opening a logbook to mark something down. Jungkook recognized him as the same mundane that was at the warlock’s residence when he healed Haechan, but the Shadowhunter had his Unseen rune activated, so he paid the mundane no mind. 

Suddenly, the mundane spoke. “You know, typically it’s considered polite to greet someone when they come in a room.” 

Jungkook looked around to see who he was talking to, but there was no one else in the store besides him and the mundane. It should have been impossible for the mundane to be addressing him. 

“Are you talking to me?”

The mundane looked in his direction, an exasperated expression on his face. “Do you see anyone else I’d be talking to?” 

“How can you see me?” 

“I have eyes, don’t I?” Were all mundanes this disrespectful? Jungkook had little opportunity to interact with them. 

“Jimin has the Sight,” the warlock explained as he re-emerged from the back room. “He can see past most glamours and concealment runes.” 

It was uncommon, although not impossible, for certain mundanes to be born with senses just heightened enough to perceive the Shadow World. Usually, though, they were driven to madness due to their ability to See things that appeared to other mundanes not to be there, or died when their latent magical ability attracted the wrong demon or Downworlder. Apparently, the High Warlock had seen fit to take this one under his wing. _Does the mundane know what he really is?_ Jungkook wondered. _Would he be as willing to work with him if he did know?_

“Jimin, did we get that shipment of saffron?”

“Yup, I put it in the back next to the sage.” 

High Warlock Kim frowned faintly and wandered into the back again. “I must have missed it.”

Jungkook almost felt pity for the mundane, that he was being deceived into working with something so dangerous. “So you’re a mundane,” he said, offering a boon of conversation. 

“Your powers of observation are astounding.” Jimin circled something in the book, then scribbled something else on a yellow sticky note. 

“You must not know, then, what he really is—”

Jimin cut him off. “I know that Seokjin is a warlock.” 

“Fine, let’s say you do. But you don’t know what it really _means_ to be a warlock—”

Jimin huffed impatiently through his nose and forcefully set his pen down. “I know how little warlock babies are made. I know about hell, and demons, and vampires, the whole shebang. I also know that you’re Shadowhunter, and you think you’re better than everyone else. So let me do you a favor and relieve you of whatever misguided notion you have that I’m a meek little human that needs _saving_ from the big scary monster. Seokjin has never hurt me, and he never will. He’s not holding me hostage or whatever the fuck else you might think, so just _leave it_.” 

Jungkook wanted to argue. Clearly the warlock had been filling Jimin’s head with lies. It wasn’t that Jungkook _thought_ that nephilim were superior to Downworlders, they simply _were_. How could a race of beings descended from demons compare to a race of beings that were part angel? It was an indisputable fact that Downworlders would always be inherently less good than mundanes or nephilim. However, given the way their conversation had just unfolded, Jungkook could see that Jimin would not be open-minded enough to listen to reason. So he kept his mouth shut and turned his attention back to his task. 

The first day passed more or less uneventfully until it was nearly time to close. High Warlock Kim, who had spent most of the morning and afternoon in the back room, had come out to attend to the register so that Jimin could go home early. Only one customer, a slim looking man in an oversized rain coat, remained, and had been deciding between two different sets of herbal tea for almost twenty minutes. Occasionally, the man would shoot looks in the warlock’s direction, but he paid the looks no attention, focused on something on his laptop screen. The man in the raincoat almost seemed more likely to steal something than try to kill someone, posture stiff with nervous energy.

Still, Jungkook kept an eye on him as he slowly put more items in his basket, and reactivated his Strength and Speed runes with his Stele just in case. 

What occurred next felt like it was happening in slow motion. 

Jungkook saw the man reach for something at his waistband with his right hand and pull, eyes trained on the unsuspecting warlock. Jungkook yelled something—High Warlock Kim to get down—just in time as the first two shots rang out, burying themselves in the wall where his head had been a moment ago. Who knew mundane firearms were so _loud_? 

Jungkook ran, then, and shouted Raphael’s name to activate the vambrace strapped to his arm. Upon uttering the angel’s name, the vambrace burst to life, expanding into a full blown shield that covered a good third of Jungkook’s body. The shield was mostly clear, shimmering iridescently and humming audibly with heavenly power. It operated on a similar mechanism to the seraph blades in that its power came from the name of an angel. 

Time snapped together again, speeding up as the next three shots hit the shield, jarring Jungkook’s entire frame and rattling his teeth. Thank the Angel that the junior weapons master had been right about the shield handling mundane attacks. Once the clip ran out of bullets, Raincoat tossed the gun to the side and charged at them, hoping to force his way past Jungkook. With the hand not holding the shield, the Shadowhunter unfurled his balisong and slashed upwards once as a warning to get back. Raincoat dodged but came back just as hard, slamming Jungkook into the counter with the weight of his body. Jungkook gritted his teeth, ignoring the hot flash of pain that went down his side and brought his right foot up to plant it in Raincoat’s solar plexus and force him back. Dropping the balisong in favor of his Stele, he quickly deactivated the shield, no longer necessary with the gun out of play, and brought both his fists up to take Raincoat head on. 

It quickly became clear that he was not a trained fighter, his actions all strength and no finesse, body language telegraphing his next moves. Jungkook dodged the fist that he swung in his direction and landed a hit to his kidney, then two more in rapid succession to the man’s jaw before he could get his guard up, hoping to render him unconscious. The second hit split Raincoat’s lip, bright blood spraying into the air. He stumbled, then tripped over the basket he had dropped on the floor, landing hard on his ass. Jungkook pressed his advantage, following him to the ground and yanking his right arm up in a stress position that would snap it if he tried to release himself from Jungkook’s hold. 

Raincoat cried out in pain, then, squirming ineffectually beneath the Shadowhunter’s weight. “Argh! Let me go, all right, let me go!” 

“Who sent you?” Jungkook growled, holding his Stele to the man’s neck. Even if he weren’t a Downworlder, a rune could still injure a mundane. “Tell me! Why are you trying to kill the High Warlock?” 

“Seokjin, get him off of me. I did what you asked!” That made Jungkook pause momentarily.

“Jungkook,” someone touched his shoulder, the warlock, but he didn’t remove his Stele from the man’s jugular, wrenching the arm in his grip up even higher. “Jungkook, let him go. He will not hurt me.” Could he not see sense? This man had just tried to _murder_ the him, why should he be released? 

“Explain,” demanded Jungkook. He never removed his eyes from the man whimpering in pain under him. 

“It was a test, the threat was not real.” 

“He’s right—ah!—let me go, Shadowhunter!” Jungkook’s grip loosened just enough for the man to wriggle free, instantly scooting backwards across the floor to put a meter of distance between them. Raincoat, who Jungkook suddenly realized had miniscule horns like those of a reindeer peeking out from blond curls, held his arm to his chest with a wounded look on his face. 

“Just an illusion, a spell,” he spat.

“What are you saying ...” Jungkook drifted off as he looked to the corner of the room where the gun had been, when he saw that there was no firearm to be found, only a small piece of piping. His head whipped around and similarly found the wall entirely intact, as if the bullets had never been fired. 

“Isaiah owed me a favor, so I asked him to feign an attack to see what you would do. But my life was never in any actual danger.” 

“You messed with my mind?” He jerked to his feet, slamming the High Warlock into a shelf of glass jars with a punishing grip on his shirt collar, the adrenaline pulsing in his veins quickly turning to outrage at the implication that he was incapable of doing the task demanded of him. How dare he question Jungkook’s loyalty and sense of duty? High Warlock be damned. And more importantly, how dare he cast demonic magic on Jungkook without his knowledge?

Seokjin showed nearly no reaction at being pushed up against the wall save for his glamour, which had dropped to reveal neon eyes nearly glowing with cold fury. On the floor, Raincoat continued to moan about his arm, complaining that he thought that Jungkook had broken it.

“Remove your hand, or I will remove it for you.” They did not seem like the words of a man who avoided violence. Quite the opposite, the warlock spoke like someone intimately familiar with levying threats. Painstakingly slowly, Jungkook made himself let go. High Warlock Kim brushed past Jungkook to kneel at the man’s side, gently grasping the injured arm.

“Hush, you big baby, it is hardly a sprain.” The same taste of sea salt that Jungkook had experienced the first time the warlock healed someone coated his tongue, but the sensation was brief. High Warlock Kim helped the other man stand up and guided him towards the exit. 

“Thank you, Isaiah. Consider your ledger cleared.” Isaiah grumbled something about Shadowhunters and pushy friends on his way out, although the rest was too low to catch. The warlock flipped the _Open_ sign to _Closed_ and locked the front door with a sigh, then bent over to begin cleaning up the mess left behind by Jungkook’s fight. 

Only after all of the glass vials and metals tins had been picked up and put back in their proper place did he speak.

“I apologize for deceiving you.” For the deception, not the act itself. 

“It was unnecessary, and a violation of the Accords, to cast a spell on me without my knowledge.” 

“A violation, perhaps, but absolutely necessary. I had to know … to make sure that you would do your job.”

“I have my orders—”

“Yes, you have your orders. But would you follow them?” 

“Of course I would. What kind of inane question—”

“Of course you would,” High Warlock Kim repeated, voice hollow. Then he asked, “Were you aware that I was assigned another protection detail before you?” 

Jungkook had not, in fact, been aware of this. The briefing report made it seem as if this was the first time the warlock had requested protection and that Jungkook’s assignment was his first and only one. 

“No, I wasn’t aware.” 

“This group was unrelated to your current assignment. Another warlock with a personal grudge that frankly I could have handled on my own. However, my friends pushed me to file a request with the Institute. They assigned three Shadowhunters from the Busan Institute to me, said that the Seoul institute could not spare the manpower. My detail appeared relatively harmless at first. Adequately thorough in their duty, spoke little, but that seems to be a trend with you Shadowhunters. 

“However, on a trip to Kyiv, I unknowingly activated a trap. Although simple, it was magical in nature and keyed specifically to my magical signature so it would not have harmed a Shadowhunter. For me, however, the pain was … excruciating. I begged them to help me get out, to break the seal on the trap. Instead they just watched as I was nearly burned alive. Were it not for my friend who agreed to meet me at the portal point, I very well might have died.” The warlock ran an absent hand up the scales on his forearm, recalling the burns he must have suffered. 

“So tell me, Shadowhunter, what would you do if you were in my position?”

Jungkook found it extremely hard to believe that a group of Shadowhunters would simply stand by and watch an innocent person die, even if that person were a Downworlder, but he grudgingly admitted that if something like that really _had_ occurred, then the High Warlock’s actions made more sense. 

“Their behavior was shameful and does not represent the Clave at large,” Jungkook reassured. Personal feelings were and always should have been secondary to the completion of the mission, and a Shadowhunter who forgot that was not fit, in Jungkook’s estimation, to call themself one. “I will protect you.” 

High Warlock Kim examined Jungkook, expression indiscernible. “I certainly hope so,” was all he said. 

After that, the warlock decided to close the store for the day, locking all of the necessary display cases and removing the money from the register to put it somewhere in the back room. Jungkook remained by the front door, wincing with a frown when he breathed too deeply and his side twinged with residual pain. His ribs didn’t seem fractured, at least, but it was possible that they were bruised. High Warlock Kim’s accomplice had not held back in their pretend fight. He pressed a hand to the side where the pain felt most sharp and breathed in once more as a test. 

“Was Isaiah too rough?” he asked. “I told him to make it convincing, but he may have been a little over enthusiastic when presented with the opportunity to physically aggress a Shadowhunter.” 

“Nothing that an _Iratze_ won’t fix,” Jungkook replied gruffly. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, thank you for waiting patiently.” 

Their return home went similarly without incident. The warlock offered yet again to share dinner, which Jungkook again declined, wondering how many times it would take for him to get the message, opting instead for a quick shower and to report the day's events to Hyuntae. He tried to think back on any behavior that would seem suspicious but came up with little. Were Jungkook not already aware of the warlock’s Downworlder status, he could have easily mistook the man for a mundane, He even used a cellphone and laptop like one. 

However, he detailed the test, and after some deliberation, included the part where magic had been performed on him against his will. Hyuntae dismissed the infraction as minor, not worth the amount of paperwork logging the complaint would entail, which chafed Jungkook a little. Did Seokjin get a pass because he was High Warlock, or did breaches of Clave law, minor or not, have no meaning anymore? 

Jungkook folded the notebook between a pair of pants and stuck it back in his drawer, going down to the kitchen to cook himself dinner. While his body went through the meditative actions of chopping and mixing, his mind drifted back to the Downworlder with whom he now shared a home. He presented a puzzling contradiction for Jungkook, who had had little extended interaction with Downworlders outside the occasional arrest. He had no illusions that his interpersonal skills were the most robust, yet the warlock had met his antagonism with unflinching politeness to the point where it was almost unnerving. 

Was High Warlock Kim so weak-willed that he was unable to stand up for himself, or did the slights merely roll off his back like water off a duck’s? That human under his employment also confused Jungkook, for more reasons than his apparent lack of self-preservation instincts in the face of danger. Statistically, it was possible for hundreds of mundanes to be born with the Sight every year yet Downworlders seldom went out of their way to seek out and interact with them, let alone take them under their wing like the High Warlock had. What relation did he have to the human? What piece did he play in Seokjin Kim’s long-term game? 

Questions swirling and swirling, turning over in his head and rattling against the inside of his skull. He tried to ignore them and shake them free; however, they persisted stubbornly throughout dinner and even as he laid in bed, waiting for sleep to come. Eventually, Jungkook succumbed to the pull of sleep, dreams filled with flashes of towering dragons breathing white hot fire, and the acrid stink of sulfur and brimstone. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please consider dropping a comment or kudos if you enjoyed! 
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seokjjinnie98) if you want
> 
> p.s. would people be interested in footnotes? I try to make it so that any shadowhunter related content gets explained through context but if people still have questions id be happy to try to figure out the whole footnotes deal


	4. Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jungkook finally gets more insight into Seokjin's duties as High Warlock, and a threat at the door prompts a discussion of who may be trying to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight content warning for gore, skip the paragraph that starts with "He was lost in his head on the way back to the warlock’s home" if you'd like to avoid it.

The next two weeks passed more or less the same as that first day, minus the surprise attacks. Either High Warlock Kim worked his shop front or took client appointments at his apartment. He was almost always glued to his phone or laptop, squinting at the screens and poking at the keys with his crooked fingers. Every night he asked if Jungkook would like to join him for dinner, and every night Jungkook declined. As far as missions went it certainly wasn’t the most difficult assignment, only exceedingly, mind-numbingly tedious. 

Until one Saturday night, when High Warlock Kim told Jungkook they would be going somewhere new.

* * *

One Saturday of every month, Hoseok’s dear Seokjinnie liked to live up to his title of _High Warlock_ and hold something of a town hall for Downworlders in the neighborhood to air their complaints and woes. _That_ Saturday was this Saturday, and Hoseok, as free spirit-cum-head of the downtown Seoul coven, thought it would be fun to join. And even _more_ fun was that Seokjinnie insisted on bringing his little angel-blooded bodyguard. Of course, Seokjinnie’s continued existence was very important to Hoseok, but one puny Shadowhunter wasn’t going to make much of a difference if someone wanted him dead. 

He breathed in noisily to absorb the crisp air and let the scents of the night wash over him. A weekend night in the big city was really too much temptation for a vampire. The smell of young blood and sweaty bodies made his fangs ache to puncture something soft and warm. Hoseok resisted, however, as he always did, because more than anything, he hated that _look_ that Seokjinnie always got on his face when someone had disappointed him. Just because he couldn’t touch didn’t mean that he couldn’t look. 

To distract himself, Hoseok looked at the man whose arm was looped through his, frowning a little at the smoothness of the skin on his cheeks and forehead. Just plain _wrong_ for warlocks to hide their warlock marks in public. A mundane’s imagination only stretched so far, and if they saw a warlock’s marks they would surely think it was costume makeup or something similarly asinine. Certainly not that it was _real_. But his Seokjinnie always insisted on discretion, on _blending in_. More like hiding. Then again, if Hoseok had an ugly rat tail or gills on his neck like some warlocks had, maybe he would want to hide it too. Hoseok _loved_ this new Seokjinnie, with his cute little politics and his cute little morals. Resolve was a good look on his ex-lover, even if all his toiling efforts would end in heartbreak. 

He studied the Shadowhunter who stood off to the side of the pair, eyes trained forward and alert. Jungkook looked so terribly _serious_ all covered up in black runes and blacker clothes. He strode forward with purpose, cocksure and at ease in the imagined war zone he’d been raised in. Seokjinnie had little to say about the boy, other than that he had something against sharing meals apparently. _Maybe he thought Seokjinnie was going to poison him!_ Hoseok giggled to himself at the thought. If only Jungkook knew that Seokjinnie didn’t have it in him to swat an errant mosquito, let alone murder a Shadowhunter in _cold blood_. Although who knew if the same could be said for the opposite. The baby Nephilim was so very, very young next to Seokjin and Hoseok who, for a fleeting moment, felt the full weight of his five centuries. 

Just before he fell too far down that particular rabbit hole, he spotted another group of angel-bloods, two girls and three boys walking towards them. In his grip, his Seokjinnie’s arm stiffened, having spotted them as well. 

“Here we go again,” Hoseok muttered under his breath. He detached from Seokjinnie’s side and waved as non-threateningly as possible. 

“You there,” the girl with the poorly bleached hair called. “Downworlders, stop where you are.” 

Hoseok and the High Warlock stopped. Seokjinnie’s angel-blooded protector stopped with them. 

“How can we help you, Shadowhunters?” asked Seokjinnie. 

“Identifications.” The other girl barked, hand already hovering over her seraph blade. 

Seokjinnie’s eyebrows furrowed in affected confusion. “Has a crime been committed? We would be happy to assist if only we were allowed to know the reason for this stop.”

 _Blegh, propriety and diplomacy were so_ boring _._

“If you have nothing to hide, then you should have no problem showing your IDs,” one of the boys reasoned. Hoseok glanced at the bodyguard, curious to see how he’d react. 

“If there was a crime committed, then these Downworlders were not responsible,” the bodyguard said. _Oh? Would the little Nephilim come to their defense?_ “They have been with me the entire time.”

“There was no crime,” bleached blonde admitted reluctantly. “Just a routine stop. IDs?” 

Seokjin looked down at Hoseok, then nodded almost imperceptibly. He sighed and pulled out the laminated card, slapping it into the waiting palms of little miss Barbie. Seokjinnie handed over his as well. 

“A vampire? Up against the wall.” _Ding ding ding! Lilith, Lucifer, and all the demons in Hell, Shadowhunters were_ so _damned predictable._ Hoseok knew this song and dance better than he knew the freckles on his left asscheek; he didn’t know why he expected this time to be any different. 

“Really, is this necessary?” Seokjin demanded. 

“Leave it, babe. After all they’re just doing their _job_.” Hoseok faced the wall with his feet hip width apart, palms up against the brick. The boy kicked his feet apart further. Hoseok felt his jaw clench shut, fangs creaking under the immense pressure. The Shadowhunter began to pat him down roughly, slipping his hands inside Hoseok’s jacket and groping around his pants pockets. 

“Careful,” he purred. “I may like it rough, but don’t damage the merchandise.” One of the boy-soldiers recoiled slightly in disgust. 

“What are you doing so close to a mundane neighborhood, vampire?” Barbie asked. 

“Well, _Shadowhunter_ , you see that club right across the street with the pretty red lights? That there is my lovely establishment, where I and my companion, the _esteemed High Warlock of Seoul_ —you know what that is, right?—were headed to enjoy our evening off. I promise it’s all above board. I’ve got a permit and everything~” 

Honestly, the least the Institute could do was assign the same Shadowhunters to patrol this area so that Hoseok wouldn’t have to waste his breath explaining the same story _over_ and _over_ again. 

“Downworlder hierarchies mean little in the face of the law,” Barbie sneered. 

“I can get you guys in, if that’s what this is about. My club is welcome to _all_ types of people.”

Hoseok’s hands curled inwards as he spoke, turning the cement beneath his fingertips to dust as his patience ran thin. The Shadowhunters were welcome to insult him all they wanted, but his Seokjinnie was another matter altogether. It’d be so _easy_ to throw off the Shadowhunters, to slash one’s throat or rip another’s head from their shoulders. 

He imagined it for a second, the sequence of events that would unfold if he gave into his unsavory desire. Imagined the hot splurt of liquid bursting like sweet berries between his fingers and the clean snap of bone. Seokjinnie would be horrified, try to heal them, and fail. The bodyguard would arrest him, and Hoseok would stand trial in front of a Nephilim Inquisitor and a jury of Nephilim all ready to hand out a guilty verdict. He would be sentenced to death, no doubt, the usual punishment for a Downworlder responsible for the murder of a Shadowhunter. It might not be so bad to die by sunlight, Hoseok thought, to feel the light on his skin for the first time in centuries, even as it burned away his soul. _Would Seokjinnie mourn?_ he wondered. 

Instead, Hoseok chose to suffer the indignity of being searched like a criminal outside of his own damn club.

“He’s clean,” boy-soldier number two declared. 

Shrugging his veneer back on, Hoseok turned back to the group of Shadowhunters and smiled magnanimously. 

“Is there anything else we can help you with, _Shadowhunters_?” 

The boy who had yet to speak gave them back their IDs. “You’re free to go.” 

Hoseok bared his teeth in a smile half-feral, waggling his fingers at the Nephilim as they retreated into the shadows. “Have a good evening!” Once out of sight, his faux cheeriness dropped away. “Can you believe that?” he complained, reaching out to recapture his hold on Seokjinnie’s arm. “Killing humans is _so_ two centuries ago, I haven’t even drunk from a human since the nineties! I don’t know what they’re expecting to find every time they freaking molest me like that.” 

“It is unfair of them to search only you. Especially when no crime had been committed,” Seokjinnie soothed. Hoseok preened under his Seokjinnie’s good faith. 

“And you.” Hoseok shot the bodyguard a reprimanding look. “You could have vouched for me! God knows they’re more likely to believe one of their _fellow warriors_ than a lowlife vampire.” 

“If you had done nothing wrong, then you had no reason to worry.” The bodyguard shrugged. “It was just a routine stop; patrols make them all the time. I’ve done dozens.” 

How simple Angel-Blood’s world must have been, how black and white. What was it like, Hoseok wondered, to believe so firmly that you knew right from wrong, to not know the meaning of doubt? 

“At least you weren’t arrested,” Angel-Blood pointed out. 

Hoseok’s eyes rolled back so far into his head he swore he could see his brain. “You’re right, silver linings,” he said. “C’mon.” Hoseok tugged Seokjinnie to the crosswalk. “We don’t want to keep your adoring fans waiting.” 

It was Seokjin’s turn to roll his eyes, “They are not my ‘fans.’” 

“Fans, loyal subjects, it’s all the same.” 

“You are incorrigible,” Seokjinnie chastised fondly. 

“And that’s why you love me ~” Hoseok cooed back. He had to skip a little to keep up with Seokjinnie’s lengthy stride as they crossed the street to the club. 

Named Halloween, an irony that was not lost on anyone, Hoseok’s club had remained one of the most popular in the area since its opening some eight years ago. Partially good advertising, partially the reasonably priced drinks and decent food, but mostly due to the type of clientele it attracted. _Halloween_ celebrated the 31st of October year round, taking advantage of a stupid mundane holiday to give a place for Downworlders to be themselves without glamours. Everyone wore costumes! No one thought twice about a woman with turquoise skin or a man with incisors just on the wrong side of too sharp. Even the children of the Angel were welcome, so long as they minded their manners. 

They entered through the service door on the side of the two-story building to avoid the packed crowds at the front, which led them straight into the kitchens behind the main bar. His head cook, a lovely human in her sixties whom Hoseok helped get away from her abusive husband before divorce was socially conceivable, greeted the trio cheerfully. 

“Evening, boss!” 

“Good evening! How’s it looking out there?”

“Busy as usual. Soonyoung hasn’t shown up for his shift yet, so Heejin is swamped. She could probably use some help.” That was the ninth time in two weeks that Soonyoung was late for his shift or had missed it completely. They would be needing to have a conversation the next time Hoseok saw him. In the meantime, he could cover his shift. 

He turned to his Seokjinnie, who had accosted a plate of fries and was digging in. 

“I’ll meet you two downstairs in a bit. Can I get you anything? Mojito? Bloody Mary? I see you’ve found the fries.” 

Seokjin scooped up a water bottle from the crate tucked under one of the preparation tables. “Water is fine for me, thank you.” 

Hoseok looked to the Shadowhunter. Let it never be said that he lacked hospitality and good manners. “Angel Boy?”

“I’m on duty,” he said, as if shocked and horrified by the notion of consuming an alcoholic beverage. 

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” 

Hoseok shooed the pair out of the kitchen and grabbed a spare apron to wrap around his waist. Lastly, he slipped in a pair of muffling ear plugs. His heightened senses made the club music murder on his ear drums if he had to bear it for long periods of time. Out on the floor, Heejin shot her boss a grateful look as she scrambled to keep up with the dozens of orders. Waving over the closest patron, Hoseok leaned his palms on the bar countertop and smiled his most winning smile. 

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?” 

* * *

Jungkook wasn’t expecting much out of this little get-together that Seokjin Kim organized. He didn’t know much about it, but it seemed to be a regular occurrence. The room they went to was a stark opposite to the opulently decorated club above, with plain white walls and flimsy fold-out chairs arranged into neat rows of ten. A few—presumably—Downworlders gathered in the corner by a punch bowl and a plate of cookies, chatting amongst themselves. They smiled at the High Warlock when he entered, but their friendliness quickly turned to hostile confusion upon seeing Jungkook with him. 

Jungkook thought, _fine with me_ , scoffing to himself. He observed the group for threats as he normally did and found no immediate ones. No purposefully baggy clothes to hide concealed weapons or shifty, nervous glances in High Warlock Kim’s direction. Not that those criteria meant much. Downworlders were in and of themselves a weapon; a warlock could not be separated from its magic nor a wolf from its claws.

At ten o’clock sharp, the meeting began. The High Warlock sat at the head of the room facing the others with a pair of reading glasses balanced on the fine bridge of his nose and a pen poised over a blank notepad. _What kind of Downworlder needed glasses anyway?_

Jungkook quickly came to understand that this gathering acted as a space for Downworlders to air their grievances and promptly tried to tune them out. After all, he had no need to fill his head with the petty squabbles of intra-Downworlder politics. 

The Downworlders proceeded in an orderly fashion, simply going down each row to share their various hardships. At each turn, High Warlock Kim listened attentively, jotting down notes and offering suggestions if he could. Jungkook tried not to listen—it wasn’t like he cared—but it wasn’t as if there was much else to do. Eventually he got drawn in, as if bewitched by the seemingly endless myriad of troubles plaguing the Downworlders of Seoul.

There seemed to be a mysterious illness gaining traction in the warlock population, something they’d never encountered before and thus had little expertise in countering. High Warlock Kim’s subtle frown deepened. 

“How long has this been happening?”

The warlock who brought up the complaint swept her warlock mark (vibrant vines in the place of normal hair) over one shoulder with a sigh. “Four months, maybe five?”

“And you are just now bringing this to my attention?” The High Warlock had a peculiar way of speaking that conveyed chastisement without the condescension or anger. The female warlock lowered her head.

“We didn’t want to bother you with something so trivial because you have enough on your plate as is.”

He snorted. “Well, you are not wrong in that respect. Has the Spiral Labyrinth been contacted?” 

“Not yet. So far, no one has died from the illness, so we thought we’d just…wait it out. However, the symptoms can be severe.”

“I will file a formal request with the Spiral Labyrinth to have a specialist examine the issue, Cassie, and get back to you. Is that all for now?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Many of the complaints followed along a similar vein. Another warlock (male, with a small, shark-like dorsal fin poking out of the collar of his shirt) whose shipment of ingredients from Colombia was being held indefinitely and, as he claimed, unfairly by Shadowhunter customs. Another (gender unclear, with moss green skin as a warlock mark) whose friend got picked up by Shadowhunters on a _yin fen_ possession charge and was now facing the possibility of a century in prison. Personally, Jungkook didn’t see how High Warlock Kim could help with that particular issue. He could not un-commit the crime perpetrated by the other Downworlder. If he were guilty, he should do time, and no amount of political connections could change that. But Seokjin promised to get in touch with someone named Namjoon to see if anything could be done. 

The majority of the complaints also, at least partially, involved the Clave, causing Jungkook to wonder why these Downworlders hadn’t visited the Institute as opposed to this informal setting. A pair of vampires, representing their local coven, brought up the topic of the Institute’s exclusionary protection zones, lamenting the loss of safe hunting grounds. Jungkook fought not to roll his eyes at that one. _Boohoo, we’re not allowed to kill mundanes at random to our hearts’ content anymore._

The exclusionary protection zones were a legal extension of the Institute’s territory, densely populated areas of the city with Shadowhunter outposts where they could be dispatched more expeditiously to deal with demonic attacks, if need be. The mundanes in those zones were essentially protected under Clave law as if they were Shadowhunters, although they didn’t know it. Any harm that befell a Shadowhunter—or in this case, a mundane—by way of Downworlder hands was a punishable offense. Usually by death. Only the most suicidal of vampires—or those seeking a thrill by trying to evade detection—hunted in those areas.

“I will pass it along to Hoseok,” the High Warlock answered. “However, I am uncertain of how much we can do directly. Our influence with the Institute is limited and tenuous. These new exclusionary zones are a pet project of Representative Park. She ran on them during her election campaign, and as such, it will be difficult to convince her to part with it. In the meantime, I can connect you with some blood drives in the city who are more … _sympathetic_ towards your plight.” 

“For a price, of course,” said one of the vampires.

“Little comes without one, these days. May I suggest hunting on Bukhansan? I hear the Asiatic bear is not half bad.” Once again, it was hard to tell whether or not the warlock is joking. 

High Warlock Kim’s “court”, as Jungkook had taken to calling it, dragged on into the late hours. He activated his Stamina rune once, around three in the morning, when his eyes began to droop. Downworlders came and went in waves, some offering up solutions of their own to the problems of their kin. At some point, the vampire they’d come with, the owner of the club, joined as well, more serious than Jungkook had seen him before, perched on his imaginary throne adjacent to High Warlock Kim. 

Next to Hoseok, Seokjin’s posture relaxed by incremental degrees, the only sign that the hours-long session was beginning to take its toll. His shoulders drooped from their rigid posture, spine curved where three hours ago it had been straight. The notebook under his hand was crammed with looping red script, but Jungkook was too far away to make out anything legible. 

Finally, the last Downworlder said their piece, and the meeting adjourned. Hoseok stood with a groan, pulling his hands above his head to decompress his spine, while High Warlock Kim pushed at his eyes behind his glasses, and sighed. The vampire looked down at him with something like fondness stretched across his cold features, the first genuine sign of emotion Jungkook had seen him express. 

“Never ends, does it?” he trilled. 

“It hasn’t once in 150 years,” replied High Warlock Kim. 

Jungkook struggled to contain his reaction. They had been doing this for one hundred and fifty years? Although, given the lifespan of vampires and warlocks, perhaps one hundred and fifty years was not so long a time. What did it feel like to measure your life in centuries and millennia, instead of years and decades? How quickly would the warlock forget about him once his assignment ended, with the length of a few months passing in the space between breaths for an immortal? 

Illogically, it unnerved him. Why should Jungkook care if he would be remembered by some warlock or vampire? He was here to do a job, regardless of their gratitude. 

Normally duty was all Jungkook focused on, but this meeting kept prompting more and more questions about High Warlock Kim’s world. Jungkook turned to High Warlock Kim, who was in the middle of cleaning up.

“Why don’t the Downworlders just bring their complaints to the Clave?” Jungkook questioned. 

“If only it were that easy,” he replied. He stacked the last chair on the cart and wiped his hands free of dust. “Many reports filed with the Institute end up leading nowhere, and we are forced to seek alternative solutions. I would love for this to be a last resort, but for some, it is the only option they have.” 

At their conception, the Institutes were never truly designed to handle the amount of tasks they took on now. Downworlders were an unforeseen consequence of the mingling of mundanes and demons and all of the infrastructure that came along with them, housing prisoners, following up on complaints, _mail_. It put a strain on the system. 

“You can’t blame that on the Clave, though,” Jungkook protested. “We’re stretched thin enough as it is; we do the best we can with the resources we have. Do you have even the slightest idea of the logistics involved in protecting a city of 16 _million_ mundanes? Because I can tell you, it’s not fucking easy.”

High Warlock Kim stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Besides, missing packages, territory disputes, these things aren’t exactly important. It’s not like people are dying.” 

“There is much in between life and death, Jungkook.” 

Was there? Much of a Shadowhunter’s life was spent balancing the knife’s edge, skirting death at every turn, and snatching pockets of normalcy where one could. In the throes of passion, in the embrace of a lover. For a soldier such as Jungkook, born and bred to die, what else was there? 

He was lost in his head on the way back to the warlock’s home. So lost that he had not noticed the threat at the door until Seokjin sucked in a low gasp. Jungkook’s head snapped up, preparing himself for another fight, only to be greeted with a grotesque display. Nailed to High Warlock Kim’s front door was a dead snake, coiled in on itself so that it was gagged on its own tongue, a bastardized ouroboros. Blood trickled from the place where the nail protruded from its head, painting the door crimson.

“Whoever did this can’t have gotten far. The blood is still fresh.” Jungkook pulled out his seraph blade, aiming to search the premises but the warlock stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Do not bother. This is merely another warning.” Instead of clearing the mess with magic like Jungkook expected him to do, High Warlock Kim reached out with his bare hands to yank the nails out of the door, gripping the snake with his free hand. Jungkook wrinkled his nose. High Warlock Kim seemed uncaring about the blood seeping into his shirt sleeve. 

“Squeamish?” 

Jungkook ignored him. “I should still check the apartment before you go in.” 

“Go ahead.” 

Jungkook carefully canvased each room, weapon extended in front of him, but whoever had done this was long gone. It appeared as if they hadn’t even entered the apartment. 

“All clear,” he called. The warlock entered and tossed the decapitated snake in the kitchen garbage without a thought. He washed his hands briskly and shook them dry. 

“Well. This proves that someone definitely wants you dead. Or at the very least is trying to scare you off.”

“What gave it away, the heavily symbolic, dead snake nailed to my front door?” High Warlock Kim’s hands shook minutely where they rested on the kitchen table. He was visibly rattled by the threat.

“Surely you must have some suspicions about who is trying to kill you,” said Jungkook. His protection would only do so much, therefore the only permanent solution was to find and eliminate the enemy. 

Seokjin heaved a breath. “Can this discussion wait until tomorrow? Not all of us have Stamina runes to keep ourselves awake.” 

“Fine, tomorrow then.” 

They parted ways. 

Jungkook’s body had grown complacent after only a few weeks on this mission. Normally, he arose at seven o’clock sharp no matter what time he had fallen asleep the night before, but the morning after the town hall meeting he did not wake until nearly ten. Downstairs, High Warlock Kim was already awake, sipping from a steaming cup of tea. Jungkook himself grabbed a banana from the seemingly-infinite fruit basket and took a seat across from Seokjin.

“Good morning,” greeted the High Warlock, as he had for the past two weeks straight.

“Morning. So … dead snakes.”

“Indeed.” Compared to the previous night, the warlock had regained some of his composure, slitted blue eyes steady against Jungkook’s. 

“We have yet to discuss exactly who it is that wants you dead,” said Jungkook. “This whole thing might move along a bit faster if we knew who or what we were looking for.”

Jungkook had spent a good amount of time learning how to read people. It was a skill that came in handy when it came to leading squads, cooperating with other institutes, dealing with bureaucracy. Mundanes, Shadowhunters, and Downworlders alike revealed more than they realized through their nervous ticks and unsteady heartbeats. On the other hand, Seokjin Kim was very good at masking his body language. His pulse was nearly always steady, and he held immaculate control over his microexpressions, but something about yesterday had rattled him loose. 

More than frightened, because he _was_ afraid, he just seemed tired. Down to his bones. 

“Unfortunately, when you live as long as I have, making enemies is nigh inevitable. That being said, I cannot think of anyone who detests me enough to wish me serious harm.” 

“No one? An angry client … a bitter ex-lover …” The Institute did not handle many Downworld homicide investigations, but more often than not, the perpetrator usually had a relationship to the victim. 

High Warlock Kim's eyes narrowed at him. “Given the nature of the letters I have received thus far, I would assume that this is politically motivated, not personal. Not that that rules out many people. I can probably list fifty off the top of my head who would love to see me permanently out of the picture.” 

“Is this bill really that important?” wondered Jungkook. Important enough to kill for? To die for? 

“Technically, it is an amendment, not a bill,” High Warlock Kim pointed out. 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Seokjin set his mug down and pointedly did not sigh. Then he chuckled to himself, bitterness written all over his wry smile. “I wish I still knew. Once, I would have said that it was without a doubt. Now, however … will this change anything? Everything? Or are we just being naive?” 

“If this is so important for you and your …” _kind_ , Jungkook almost said, “fellow Downworlders, why try to prevent it from passing? And, no offense, but would it even fail if you were to die? Surely there are others who can carry out your work.” What made the High Warlock of Seoul so special that everything depended upon him? 

“As pretentious as it sounds, I supposed I have become a symbol of sorts. You are not wrong that the amendment could theoretically be approved without my involvement. Nonetheless, it would be a blow.” The detachment with which he spoke of his own possible death was eerie. As if his life was only secondary to the political matters at hand. “Truthfully, I do not understand it completely myself—why I am being targeted, that is. But hold on, my ‘fellow Downworlders?’ You believe another Downworlder to be behind this?”

The conclusion seemed obvious to Jungkook. “Who else could it be? A mundane?”

High Warlock Kim had no answer.

“If we considered the past incidents, why would a mundane attack you at random? Or feel the need to deliver a threat from a world they have nothing to do with?” 

“They wouldn’t.”

“Right, they wouldn’t. Unless they had been forced to. Which leaves a spell cast by warlock or seelie magic or vampire compulsion.” 

High Warlock Kim leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “There is another option.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. _Please, enlighten me._

“Perhaps a member of the Clave …”

“Of course you would say that,” Jungkook snorted. “It’s like a conspiracy with you people. ‘The Clave is out to get me, the Clave killed my friend’—” 

“Not necessarily the Clave itself,” he amended. “Perhaps a rogue faction within it.”

Jungkook shook his head. “Impossible. Ever since Valentine and the Circle, the Clave has cracked down on extremists. Purging, sensitivity training, they’ve gone the whole nine. With all due respect, High Warlock, there is no rogue faction of the Clave that wants you dead. I can assure you that.” Jungkook was sick of the accusations against the Clave, which was as good as an insult against himself. There was no evil plot to eliminate all Downworlders. Jungkook could concede that there were Shadowhunters who were more hostile towards those with demon blood than others, but that is where the conspiracies ended. He resented the accusation that he would just _kill_ people that he didn’t agree with, that any member of the Clave would do so. 

“I meant no offense.” High Warlock Kim spoke gently, as if soothing a rabid dog.

“I’m not offended, just correcting your misconceptions.” 

“Well. Either way, I believe the culprit will reveal themselves soon, and we will have our answer. In the meantime, thank you for keeping me safe.”

“You don’t sound particularly concerned with catching this person.”

“There are many things occupying my time these days, and oftentimes my continued personal safety does not rank very high on the list. I …” Seokjin faltered, gaze resigned. “Is what we are trying to accomplish so terrible?” 

He asked the question as if genuinely searching for an answer, not just a hypothetical. Jungkook had no response. He was a soldier, not a politician. An uncomfortable emotion settled heavy in his gut; could he be feeling … empathy for the Downworlder? At the very least, he pitied him. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Jungkook offered. 

High Warlock Kim’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Yes, you always are.” He rose from his seat, and placed the cup in the sink. “I am afraid I do not have much excitement planned for today. I have some custom orders that need seeing to, so I will be in the lab most of the day. I almost feel bad, keeping you from your friends like this. Behind my wards I am perfectly safe, if you would like to stop by the Institute for a few hours. Surely, you must be tired of spending all your time with me.” 

_And get skewered by the head of the_ _Institute, Hualian Kang_ _, if she catches me shirking my duty? No thanks_. What comes out is, “I don’t have any—” Jungkook stopped himself with an embarrassed flush. 

“Friends?” finished High Warlock Kim. Jungkook got the distinct sense he was being made fun of, yet somehow the warlock kept any maliciousness out of his tone. “In my experience, everyone has someone, even if they do not realize it.” 

Not Jungkook. Acquaintances maybe, loyal soldiers under his command, absolutely, but no one he’d name as friend. His upbringing was a lonely one, made even more so once the teachers at the Academy picked up on his above-average intelligence and skills and began to train him privately, furthering his isolation. Not that it mattered one way or another to Jungkook. The entire concept of amity, of interweaving yourself so inextricably with another person, whether as a friend or as a lover, had always seemed … so nonsensical to him, given their line of work. He did not understand how other Shadowhunters bore the heartbreak of losing loved one after loved one in battle. What they could fight for after everything had been ripped from them. This way was better for everyone, safer. 

_I don’t need anyone_ , Jungkook wanted to say. 

“Do you enjoy books? Maybe the library will interest you, I have quite an extensive collection.” 

Jungkook shrugged. He might as well, for there wasn’t much else to do around the apartment except meditate in his room. 

“You are welcome to any of the books within sight,” said Seokjin, voice trailing off as he drifted up the stairs. “If there is something not meant for your eyes, well, you will know. Dinner is at eight should you like to join, I am making okonomiyaki.” 

Jungkook could have taken Seokjin’s blanket permission as an opportunity to dig into his life further. Given that, in the two weeks since the assignment had begun, he had come up with little that would be of use to Hyuntae, he probably should have. But whatever Hyuntae’s sources had on Seokjin, Jungkook had yet to see evidence of it. No summoning circles of any kind—one of the few ways to converse with greater demons, no coded messages, not that Jungkook believed High Warlock Kim would be so careless as to leave either of those things out in the open. There were two spaces in particular of the warlock’s that Jungkook had yet to gain access to, namely his mundane laptop and cellphone, which could very well be the key to uncovering his plans. However, if Seokjin truly was planning to undermine the interests of the Clave in dramatic fashion, Jungkook had not found it. 

His apartment was clean, his homeopathic shop completely above board and in compliance with Clave law. Most importantly, Seokjin himself showed no sign of contempt towards the Clave. The thing about extremists and dissidents was that they did a poor job of hiding their disdain; they could not help denouncing the Clave at every turn and spewing their hatred for Shadowhunters. High Warlock Kim had displayed no signs of discontent, nothing that would indicate that he harbored any ill will towards Shadowhunters. Hell, he had even trusted one of them to protect him, despite the mangled trust between Downworlders and them.

Jungkook would not go so far as to say that Hyuntae’s sources were _misinformed_ —as good as a warrior he was, intelligence gathering was not one of his strengths—but they certainly saw or knew something that he did not. There was only so much Jungkook could do with the tools he’d been given. 

So he read. To say that the warlock’s collection of books was extensive was no exaggeration. There had to be some sort of warlock magic cast on the library because inside it appeared to be larger than the entire apartment, something that should have been impossible. Books in more languages than Jungkook could count, both ancient and modern, lined shelf after shelf, stretching towards the lofted ceilings. Part of Jungkook expected dusty spell and potion books, not Inho Choi, Haruki Murakami, and Audre Lorde, all in their original languages. 

Jungkook selected a collection of short stories—retellings of popular mundane folklore—and turned to the first page. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may start adding footnotes for Shadowhunter references that aren't explicitly explained, but for I'll just stick to the end notes. 
> 
> "Valentine and the Circle" is a reference to the main protagonist of the first several books in the Mortal Instrument series: a group of people, lead by Valentine Morgenstern, who believed in blood purity and essentially wanted to eradicate anyone with demon blood, including Downworlders. 
> 
> Any other questions related to Shadowhunters canon, just ask! 
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seokjjinnie98) if you want


	5. Business As Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seokjin sees a client in need, and tensions escalate on all fronts

As Seokjin was not immune to the increasingly present threat on his life, he most often saw clients in his home, although perhaps “client” was not necessarily the best descriptor, as he almost never charged those who came to him unless they needed it. There were those whose pride would not allow them to ask for help unless they felt they had something to give in return, and in those cases Seokjin accepted whatever they could spare, purposely low-balling a “price” to help in any way he could. 

Lately, his visitors had been less forthcoming, intimidated by Jungkook’s near-constant presence. The types of problems Downworlders came to Seokjin with often involved a certain degree of illegality, and with a representative of the Clave present, they would not speak freely for fear of repercussions. 

This particular client, a young warlock not yet aged a quarter century, continued to shoot furtive glances at Jungkook where he stood in at ease off to Seokjin’s right. 

“Jungkook?” said Seokjin, turning to face the young man. He grunted in acknowledgement.

“Would you mind heading up to the library for a bit? I believe Zhune here would feel comfortable if it were just me and her. I do not believe her intent is to hurt me.” 

“That’s not a good idea,” he cautioned, “she could be dangerous—”

“My wards are designed to prevent any sort of harm against me, so even if that is the case, I will be fine. Please,” insisted Seokjin. This meeting would not get anywhere if Zhune continued to cower like a frightened field mouse in her chair. 

Jungkook grumbled under his breath but complied without further objection. Seokjin turned back to Zhune with a smile he hoped was reassuring. “Now, what can I help you with?” 

“Hoseok said … he said that you helped people like me,” she started timidly.

“Hoseok is rarely wrong.”

“I … I’m in trouble. With the Clave.”

Seokjin prompted her to continue. “What sort of trouble?” 

Zhune hands clenched into fists in her lap. Seokjin poured a cup of the tea he had brewed in preparation for her arrival and held it out to her. She took the cup but left the drink untouched. 

“Zhune, I promise that you are safe here with me. No one will hurt you inside of these walls. What trouble are you in with the Clave?” 

She bit her lip, revealing a sharp row of teeth. “There’s an order out for my arrest. They say that warlocks who go to prison don’t come out, so I can’t turn myself in. I don’t know what else to do. Please.” Desperation and fear warped her features, eyes welling with tears. One of her hands lunged out to grab Seokjin’s arm, squeezing hard enough for the bones under her grip to creak. Seokjin laid a hand on top of hers, not to force her to let go, simply to hold.

Arrest orders were difficult. It was impossible to get one vacated unless the accused made an appearance in court. If one had a good-enough lawyer, they could get the sentence reduced to parole or a hefty fine, but that also depended on the supposed crime that had been committed, as well as the leniency of the Arbiter. Seokjin hoped that Hoseok had not made it seem as though he had it within his power to get rid of the order completely. 

“What are they accusing you of?” He needed to know the full extent of the charges before he made any promises.

She hesitated. Withdrew her hand. “Selling potions to mundanes.” 

Seokjin sucked in a sharp breath. _That is more serious._ Even excluding the mandates of Clave law, selling magical potions and other spelled items to mundanes was considered taboo amongst warlocks in this day and age. There was no system of regulation such as mundanes had to ensure that the ingredients were safe to consume; furthermore, demonic magic had unpredictable ways of interacting with mundanes. Warlocks who chose to sell potions to mundanes either had little sense of morality or were … desperate. 

“What kinds?” That being said, even within the edict of not selling potions, there were degrees. Potions to harm, potions to help, potions that acted as stand-ins for mundane narcotics: each had its own severity of punishment. 

“Nothing dangerous,” Zhune rushed to assure him or maybe assure herself. “Mild pain relievers, potions for concentration, ones for insomnia no more potent than melatonin. I knew it was wrong, I knew that I’d probably get caught, but I didn’t have a choice! I started out above board, selling to Shadowhunters and other Downworlders, I had a permit and everything. Then …”

“It is all right, Zhune, I am not here to judge you. However, I need all of the information in order to help.” 

“I got caught up in this,” her head shook side to side angrily, “this _trial_. I saw some shit, I guess. I was a key _witness_ or whatever. Testifying _against_ a Shadowhunter, who’d done a bunch of fucked-up shit ‘cause I caught him in the act one time. I didn’t want to at first, but Leroi, the Junior Inquisitor prosecuting the case, convinced me to. He said it was the _right_ thing to do.

“I should have known it would fuck me over in the end. The night before the start of the trial I got this call from an unknown number. I didn’t pick up ‘cause who the fuck does, right? But they texted too, said I should _consider_ backing out, or else. I showed them to Leroy and he just blew me off, said if I tried to back out he could get an court order to compel me to testify, and if I refused, I’d be held in ‘contempt,’ whatever the fuck that meant. Basically, I’d get arrested if I didn’t testify.

“So I did. The texts and calls kept coming and coming, the store I worked at even got burgled. I knew it was whoever was sending the texts, even if I couldn’t prove it. When everything was over, the Shadowhunter was found guilty, and I was free to get on with my life, or so I thought. Not two days later, I got a letter from the Institute saying my license expired and that I had to apply for a new one, which was bullshit, ‘cause I just got it like two years ago and, it’s good for seven years.

“Whatever, I thought, maybe someone at the office fucked something up. I’ll just go down to the Institute and straighten things out, except when I get there I’m being given the runaround. ‘Oh, actually we just updated our system and you need this and that form,’ ‘please allow us ninety days to process your request,’ ‘we’re sorry, your appeal for a license has been denied due to quality control concerns.’ Quality control fucking concerns? My shit was just as good as anyone else's!” 

Zhune’s chest heaved as she stirred herself into a greater fury, tears leaking out of her violet eyes. She stood up, tea long forgotten, and stalked from one side of Seokjin’s room to the other, panting like an angry tigress shut away in a cage.

“I got one last text the night my license was denied. ‘You should have listened,’ I tried to appeal, again and again; when I showed them the texts, they said it was only a coincidence that my license had been suspended and that I didn’t have enough proof that there was a ‘correlation’. I’m not like Hoseok or you, with generations and generations’ worth of wealth built up; selling potions was my only source of income. I have no family, no friends, no place to live and, more importantly, no fucking money. I’m twenty-fucking-five and only good at one thing.

“So I did what I do best, and I sold potions. Mundane money is as good as anyone else’s, right?” 

Seokjin’s heart ached for the young girl, stuck in an impossible situation and just trying to look out for herself. He had no doubt that someone connected to the Shadowhunter who was found guilty had something to do with her license getting taken away. The current problem, however, still remained the order, not her license. Although the right Arbiter might be more sympathetic towards her story, there was no conceivable way for the order to just vanish into thin air. 

The best he could do for her was pay for a good lawyer, and, if she was fortunate enough to get parole or a fine, put her in contact with warlocks that could help her legally get a job to start rebuilding her life. If the Institute decided to pursue real time in prison, well … they would cross that bridge when they got to it. Perhaps Appoline would be willing to house in her New Orleans until Seokjin gathered together the proper resources. The North American Conclave’s extradition agreements with those of East Asia were tenuous at best. 

As he opened his mouth to inform Zhune of her options, a presence pinged against the edge of his wards. Zhune must have felt a shift in the ambient magic as well, because she tensed in her corner of the room. Seokjin’s wards were not specific enough to distinguish exactly who was at the door, but he had grown good at identifying the minute differences in auras. This group felt like Nephilim. 

“Remain calm,” said Seokjin shortly. He had no visitors from the Institute scheduled for today, and given the situation that had just fallen into his lap, Seokjin would estimate that they had gotten wind of Zhune’s whereabouts. After all, it wouldn’t be a great leap to assume that his home was under surveillance. Seokjin calculated quickly in his head. He had two immediate options, help Zhune escape, or let them take her. The former would solve absolutely nothing. Institutes were persistent in pursuing outstanding arrest orders, and they would catch up to her eventually, if not right now. If Seokjin chose the latter, he had to do everything within his power to assure that she did not get lost in the system. 

Neither option proved appealing; the first felt futile and the second, like a betrayal. He eyed the nervous twitch of her fingers and the way her eyes darted to the window, no doubt hedging her bets as to whether or not she could make a run for it. 

A heavy knock sounded at the door. 

“Do not run,” Seokjin advised. “It will not end well for you if you do.”

She bared her teeth at him. “I’m dead if I stay.” 

“I can protect you,” he insisted. 

“Fuck that, why should I trust you? I don’t even know you!” 

A second, more insistent knock. 

“Because you are out of options.” Seokjin continued to ignore the pounding at the door. “When I let them in, they will arrest you. Do not say anything to anyone without a lawyer, for it is your right. I will work as fast as I can, but you may be detained for a week or so before your arraignment. Zhune, look at me.” 

Zhune expended a considerable amount of effort to force her eyes away from the window. 

“Everything will be okay.” It was as much a lie as it was the truth—that is to say, neither. In the arena of criminal cases, arrests, trials, appeals, re-appeals, money and a good lawyer helped, and connections weren’t bad either. Yet none of these guaranteed a happy outcome, or even a fair shake. Seokjin had told Zhune what he believed she needed to hear praying fervently that he could make it truth and not a deception.

He allowed the front door to swing open, and wondered not for the first time if he should update his wards to bar those without permission from entering as the squad of Shadowhunters burst past him without any explanation. Only once the squad were inside did the leader speak. 

“High Warlock Seokjin Kim, we have a Clave order to search the premises for the fugitive Hien ‘Zhune’ Ngo …”

Seokjin stared dispassionately at the Shadowhunter as they continued their spiel and tried to swallow around the bitter taste in the back of his throat. Each warlock, vampire, werewolf and seelie dragged away in adamas cuffs chipped away at Seokjin’s strength of will until he feared that one day there would be nothing left to give. The responsibility he felt for those under his protection crested and broke like a deluge over him on the best of days, and on the worst it threatened to swallow him whole. There was very little, it seemed, that could measure up against the weight of the thousand small failures he incurred year after year, decade after decade, and century after century. 

Upon her arrest, Zhune would become just another grain of sand that tipped the scales another hair further off balance—simultaneously of minuscule importance and emblematic of everything they have ever stood against.

“—If you resist, we have grounds to detain you as well—”

“There is no need,” Seokjin interrupted. “She is in the living room.” The squad leader looked taken aback, as if he had not expected Seokjin to give up his charge so easily. 

“Before that, however, may I have your information?” Knowing who made the arrest would make tracking Zhune down easier when the time came. On that day, Seokjin had the pleasure of meeting Lieutenant Johnathan Whethersea of the Samcheong outpost, identification number 569210. 

“This way.” 

Miraculously, Zhune stood in the same place Seokjin had left her. She could have easily portaled out while Seokjin stalled the Nephilim, yet she didn’t. This young warlock chose to place her faith in his hands, and Seokjin intended not to break it. 

“Hands above your head!” barked the Shadowhunter left of the lieutenant. “Hands, above your head! No sudden movements!” Zhune slowly raised her hands to comply, never looking away from Seokjin. 

“I’m going to approach you to put these cuffs on. Don’t try anything.” One of the Nephilim took out a set of cuffs, specially designed to hamper warlock magic, while another aimed her crossbow at Zhune’s head. Seokjin stepped in front of her without a thought so that the bolt, if fired, would strike him and not her. 

“Now, is that really necessary?” Until now, their weapons had remained drawn, but aimed at the floor. 

“What’s going on?” Jungkook had come back downstairs, drawn by the noise. He took in the squad of Shadowhunters surrounding the two warlocks in a broken semi-circle and the High Warlock bodily protecting his client. “What did you do?” he demanded at Seokjin. 

Seokjin’s bodyguard seemed uniquely adept at finding the quickest way to strain his patience. “Ask them yourself.”

“We have a Clave order for her arrest,” the crossbow wielder explained. 

“Aptly said, an _arrest_ , not an execution, so put your weapon away. You have my word that Zhune will not resist.”

The lieutenant’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Promises always sound most honeyed when coming from the mouth of a seasoned liar.”

Seokjin fought not to roll his eyes. “Do they teach drama courses at the Academy these days?” 

“Seokjin, move out of the way,” commanded Jungkook. Very few people had the wherewithal to speak to a High Warlock that way—at least few Downworlders, who understood and appreciated the importance of the position Seokjin held. 

The Nephilim with the cuffs began to creep closer, closing in from the side, just out of the warlocks’ peripheral vision. “Not until she lowers her weapon.”

“Dahee, lower your damn weapon before you cause a diplomatic incident,” snapped Jungkook. 

“This squad is mine to command, Jeon, not yours.” Whethersea glanced at Dahee, her finger twitching on and off the trigger, lungs expanding steadily, gaze unwavering on her target. She remained undeterred by Seokjin’s position between the gleaming adamas tip of her bolt and Zhune. In her mind, it was as if he wasn’t even there. “Dahee, stand down.” After a breathless moment, she lowered her crossbow. 

The squad of Shadowhunters heaved at once, as if connected by one mind. Faster than a streak of lighting, one Nephilim darted forwards to yank Zhune’s hands from above her head to behind her back to fasten the cuffs. To Seokjin’s only mild surprise, Lieutenant Whethersea sntached up his arm, maneuvering him roughly to turn around and slamming him face first into the nearest wall. A nearby picture frame trembled and nearly fell. With his arms, and therefore hands, immobilized at a punishing angle, Seokjin could do little more than feel the exposed brick dig into his cheek. 

Jungkook shouted to release Seokjin, but Whethersea ignored him. Instead, he leaned in, close enough that Seokjin felt the heat of his breath against his ear, and whispered in what he probably imagined to be a very threatening tone. “I could have you arrested for interfering with a Clave investigation and aiding a fugitive. Is that what you want, High Warlock Kim? To be brought up on charges?” 

No sane inquisitor would actually consider filing those charges against Seokjin, but that was not the point. It was refreshing as well as dispiriting to know that in the thirty years since coming into power, little had changed the way Shadowhunters operated. He was a Downworlder first, the High Warlock of Seoul second. 

Seokjin’s magic latched onto the bitter anger rising and curdling in his chest, a frenzied mass of chaos howling to be set free. Sparks of blue sprung from his fingertips like a match preparing to light, unnoticed by the lieutenant. Whethersea may have felt powerful in that moment, with the full weight of Clave Law aiding him to press down on one of the most powerful Downworlders in the city. It may have felt good to put Seokjin in his place, but the Shadowhunter was playing in waters deep enough to pull him under if he wasn’t careful. 

“Please, do what you feel you must, Lieutenant Whethersea. I am sure Institute Head Kang would be delighted to know that you felt the need to swan through the front door, parading me in cuffs for all of you fellow Shadowhunters to see.” Name dropping always felt tacky, even when it was effective. 

He clicked his tongue and let Seokjin go. “Get her out of here,” he commanded two of his squad. Zhune, whose head was bowed so that her chin touched the space between her collarbones, was led out with a harsh grip on her elbow, followed by Lieutenant Whethersea, who left without so much as a backwards glance in their direction, with the remaining Shadowhunters covering their exit. 

In the next second, Seokjin and Jungkook were alone again, the only proof that anything had even occurred being two forgotten tea cups and a side table knocked slightly off center. Seokjin’s fingers still kicked off sparks. If Jungkook were more attuned to sensing magic, he would be able to see it radiating off of Seokjin in waves, like heat shimmering off a bed of sand in the scorching desert. His magic was as volatile as a wild animal that had been broken under the guise of being tamed; it obeyed his command, but only barely, and would exploit the first sign of weakness if he let it. 

Seokjin would not let it.

He inhaled deeply, concentrating on pushing the wild magic back beneath his skin. Once he felt adequately in control, Seokjin looked to Jungkook, who stared at him with an expression of disbelief. 

“That was stupid and reckless. Risking your life for some criminal.” 

“She was not a criminal.”

Jungkook rounded the couch to get in Seokjin’s face. “The Clave doesn’t issue arrest orders for saints and angels, High Warlock. What would you have done if the girl had run and Dahee had fired? Taken an arrow to the chest for her? _Died_ for her?” 

“I knew she would not run.” Seokjin had been at least ninety percent sure that she wouldn’t run. 

Jungkook scoffed. “Really? You knew that a potion-dealing warlock hiding from the law _wouldn’t_ try to escape? I find that hard to believe, even with your powers.” 

“Were you listening to our conversation? I asked you to give us privacy.” 

“So what if I was? I did it for your safety, something you clearly don’t seem to care about!”

“There is no need to get upset—”

“I’m not upset!”

“You sound upset.” 

“I am trying to keep you _alive_ , damn it! You understand that, right? It’s literally my only job, and if I _fail_ …” Jungkook inhaled shakily. “You can’t keep fighting me at every turn.” 

_That_ was an exaggeration. If anything, Seokjin had been accommodating up until now. “Why are you getting so worked up about this?” 

“She wasn’t worth your protection,” he ground out. 

“To whom?” demanded Seokjin. “This is what I _do_ , Shadowhunter. If you cannot handle that, feel free to put in a transfer request. You said that you listened to our conversation. You mean to tell me that nothing you heard affected your opinion even the slightest? Because all I saw was a scared young girl with no family, no one to rely on, and nowhere left to go, who used the tools at her disposal to survive.” 

“An unfortunate situation, but she had options.” 

“Zhune did not see it that way.”

“Well she did!” shouted Jungkook. “No one forced her to break the law, High Warlock, and now she has to face the consequences, just like anyone who disobeys.”

“Is that really what you think?” 

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “ _Sed lex, dura lex_.” _The law is hard, but it is the law_. A saying that had been quoted at Seokjin an immeasurable amount of times over his years liaising with the Institute. 

Seokjin did not have to justify his actions to this Shadowhunter to know that he was in the right, nor did he have the time or energy to continue debating about Zhune when Jungkook was so clearly unwilling to entertain perspectives other than his own. He had another client scheduled in an hour, fifty doses of Ravener antivenom to brew, and a meeting with Namjoon over dinner. Seokjin began to straighten up the room. 

After a moment, Jungkook asked, “Didn’t you say your wards prevented you from getting hurt?” 

Seokjin adjusted the table so that its long edge ran parallel to the couch beside it. “There are degrees. Ward construction theory is not my specialty—these were a custom design from the High Warlock of New Orleans—however, my understanding is that they did not activate because my life was not in imminent danger. Dahee’s … _intent_ was not to kill me. All she focused on was stopping Zhune. If _I_ was the target of an attack, then the wards would activate.” 

The teacups and porcelain pot were still warm as he put them on the tray, one cup stained at the rim with Zhune’s dark burgundy lip gloss. 

“Fear not, Shadowhunter. While I am within these walls, you will not fail your mission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the part where I say something about obvious real world parallels, etc, etc, but make of this chapter what you will haha. 
> 
> if you want to talk, hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seokjjinnie98)


	6. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seokjin and Jungkook finally have dinner together, although not the way Jungkook would have wanted, and Namjoon Kim is there as well. Their ensuing discussion forces Jungkook to face some uncomfortable truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new title! used to be "Who We Are in the Dark". for any of you who were previously familiar with shadowhunters, I've elected to make inquisitors the Shadow World version of lawyers instead of whatever it is in the books, so there are multiple ones, and a head honcho, not unlike a district attorney.

Later that day, High Warlock Kim invited Jungkook to share dinner with him and the warlock named Namjoon. Jungkook was tempted to decline, but it occurred to him that this might be a good opportunity to become better acquainted with High Warlock Kim’s associates. Until now, he’d only met the mundane, Jimin, and after their rocky introduction Jimin wasn’t exactly eager to make conversation. He felt guilty that he'd been unable to deliver Hyuntae any actionable intel when he had placed his faith in Jungkook. 

Seokjin only just managed to contain his surprise when Jungkook accepted his invitation, his right eyebrow twitching a hair. 

“Any allergies? Foods you do not like?” asked High Warlock Kim.

“No and no.” 

“Dan dan noodles?”

“... Sure?” Jungkook wasn’t actually sure what that was. “Does it matter what I want?” 

“I take my meals very seriously, even more so when I share them with another person and would hate to make food you did not like for our first meal together.” 

He scowled, the way High Warlock Kim spoke of sharing a meal made it seem like something intimate, something more than it was. “It’s not like that.” 

Seokjin hummed and turned back to the vegetables he was in the midst of preparing. Vibrant green bok choy sizzled in a pan of oil next to a large pot of churning water and a package of wheat noodles ready to be boiled. Jungkook felt out of place watching another person prepare his meal. High Warlock Kim had shown that he hardly needed protecting in his own kitchen, so Jungkook didn’t have an excuse to hover like he was. On the other hand, he felt an obligation to contribute at least partially to the meal he was going to share. 

“Do you … need help?” offered Jungkook.

High Warlock Kim chuckled. “Was that as painful for you as it sounded?” With a long pair of cooking chopsticks, he flipped one piece of bok choy to reveal the seared inside. Some droplets of oil leapt off the pan and had to have hit his hand, but he seemed not to notice. Jungkook wondered if his scales provided him with an added layer of protection, or if they were just ornamental.

“The sauce still needs to be mixed,” said Seokjin. 

“What?” Jungkook realized that he’d been staring at the High Warlock’s hands again. 

“The sauce? If you want to help, it needs to be mixed.” He nods towards an empty bowl surrounded by slim glass bottles of sauces and spices. “All of the ingredients are already out, so just follow the recipe.” 

Behind the bowl and ingredients, perched on an elevated stand was a thick cookbook opened about three quarters of the way. The words, handwritten in pen, were faded and barely legible, with annotations scribbled into the margins. Judging by the penmanship, multiple people contributed to the recipe. Which was the High Warlock’s, Jungkook wondered, the one with rounded placeholders that almost eclipsed their linear vowels, or the print so neat it could have been done by a typewriter? It seemed very … mundane to Jungkook, for Seokjin to have a hand-written cookbook filled with all of his favorite recipes.

Jungkook mixed the sauce per the written instructions, dubiously adding one and a half teaspoons of bright red Sichuan peppercorn despite the way it tickled the inside of his nose and made him sneeze. Once the sauce was finished, a task that took a grand total of two minutes, Jungkook gave up and resolved to not get in Seokjin’s way, sitting at one of the three kitchen bar stools. 

Half an hour later, Namjoon Kim arrived with flourish, forgoing the front door for a portal straight into the living room. He must have miscalculated exactly where he wanted it to be, though, because he kicked the couch leg with enough force to make him curse on his way through the portal, hopping on one leg with a scowl.

“Serves you right, Namjoon Kim,” High Warlock Kim admonished. “I always tell you to use the front door.”

“You moved the couch on purpose, you vindictive asshole,” he groaned, still holding his shin. 

“I have no idea what you mean. The couch has always been there.” High Warlock Kim held his arms out for the suit jacket that Namjoon was already in the midst of taking off, and stored it, along with his briefcase, in the coat closet. 

On the whole, Namjoon Kim looked quite different than the last time Jungkook had seen him, brief as their meeting might have been. He reminded Jungkook of Hyuntae, dressed for a World Council meeting with his three-piece suit and glossy Italian leather shoes. Even Namjoon’s hair, which had been ruffled and unkempt the first time they had met, was slicked back into a more professional style. Either he had a glamour over his warlock mark, or it was in a place that Jungkook couldn’t see, which was highly possible given how much of his skin was covered up.

Namjoon loosened the tie cinched around his neck and flopped into a seat at the dining table with a sigh, which Jungkook took as his cue to sit as well. The warlock’s gaze flickered in his direction. 

“Shadowhunter.”

“Mr. Kim.” 

Namjoon snorted. “D’you hear that, Jin? I’m _Mr. Kim_ now.” 

“It _is_ your family name,” said Seokjin. 

“A step up from _that one_.” 

Jungkook flushed when he remembered what Namjoon was referring to. Leave it to him to hold a grudge. 

They began to eat.

“So?” High Warlock Kim asked around a mouthful of noodles. “How was the meeting with Weylie’s friend? What was his name—”

“Xeno. Xeno Hak.” 

“Oh yes, how is young Xeno?” 

“About as good as anyone can be in jail.” 

“Tell me what happened,” demanded High Warlock Kim.

Namjoon Kim cast another glance in Jungkook’s direction. “Is that really the best idea? I’m already breaching attorney-client privilege by just telling _you_ anything. How do we know he won’t just go squealing to his masters?” 

“Do you mind not talking about me like I’m not here?” snapped Jungkook. _Are all warlocks this rude and condescending, or is this one the exception?_ he thought. He didn’t know why he had thought sitting in on this dinner would be a good idea; Namjoon Kim had made his opinion of Shadowhunters clear, and if Jungkook had to guess, he would bet that Namjoon wouldn’t dream of revealing what he considered to be sensitive or confidential in Jungkook’s presence. 

High Warlock Kim, however, did not seem anywhere near as cautious. “Anything you know is already in the Institute file anyway. If Jungkook really wanted to, he could find the information on his own.”

Namjoon’s glare was blunted by the way his cheeks puffed up with noodles and the smear of sauce on the corner of his lip. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Jin.” 

High Warlock Kim shrugged. “Humor me.” 

Namjoon rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue any further and began to recount the details of his visit. 

_Namjoon portalted to the steps of Seoul Institute Detention Center ten minutes before his appointment with Xeno Hak. Weylie_ — _a friend of the vampire who had been arrested as well as the one who had pled his case to Namjoon and Seokjin_ — _had briefed him on the situation as she saw it. However, in order to properly represent Mr. Hak, he needed all of the pertinent information straight from the source._

 _He hated going between Los Angeles and Seoul_ — _the time difference was an absolute bitch even if the travel itself was instantaneous_ — _and truthfully, he was out of practice representing Downworlders in the East Asian Conclave’s criminal court. Although the existence of portals and creation of the World Council had done much in the past hundred years to homogenize legislation between_ _Conclaves, gauging South Korea’s political trends always posed a challenge, and Namjoon felt out of his element in Seoul._

_The minute Namjoon stepped through the glamoured double doors of the Detention Center, his skin began to crawl and his stomach rolled with nausea. Nearly the entire structure was constructed with enough adamas to take down a Greater Demon. Combined with the angelic runes, the sensation of being inside was highly unpleasant and rendered magic all but moot for those who were only half-demon. He couldn’t even begin to imagine spending weeks or even months in here, awaiting trial._

_Namjoon signed in at the security desk, was searched by the Shadowhunter on duty, and directed to the holding cells where he would be allowed time with Mr. Hak in order to prepare for his trial in two weeks. As he moved deeper into the building, the nausea and crawling sensation became worse, until Namjoon had to physically check to make sure there weren’t spiders on the back of his neck. The Shadowhunter escorting him to Mr. Hak’s cell handed him Xeno’s arrest file and unlocked the solid oak and adamas door to let him in._

_“You get four hours. I’ll come get you when your time’s up,” said the Shadowhunter._

_Mr. Hak’s cell was two meters squared, with just enough space for a thin mattress on top of a dilapidated metal bed frame and a urinal. The cell had no window, the only light emanating weakly from a bare bulb suspended above the center of the room. Namjoon ran his fingers absently over the wide claw marks gouged into the wall and covered up poorly with cheap paint._

_As for Mr. Hak, it looked like a gentle breeze could put him flat on his back. From his place hunched over on one corner of the thin mattress, Namjoon could see the gauntness in his cheekbones and the deep, bruise-like circles under his eyes. He wondered how long it had been since the vampire had last fed. Hak wouldn’t die from lack of blood, just gradually become weaker and weaker as his muscles began to calcify and his veins shriveled. After a decade or two, he would be able to think of nothing but his hunger._

Mr. Hak was arrested on a _yin fen_ possession charge, wasn’t he? _Namjoon thought. He lowered himself into the four-legged stool generously provided by the Shadowhunter on duty._

_“When Weylie said I’d be gettin’ a new attorney I didn’t really know what to expect. Can’t believe she got the High Warlock involved. Where does he get off giving a fuck about a nobody drug dealer?”_

_“If you ever get to know Jin, you’d know that to him, everybody is somebody. But I can leave and get your old attorney back if you prefer?”_

_“I’m not an idiot. Jus’ don’t think you can do anything.”_

_“Hmm. Don’t lose hope just yet, Mr. Hak.”_

_Namjoon unfolded the cream manila file onto his lap. Mr. Hak had been arrested with 300 centigrams of distilled yin fen on his person after a routine stop-and-search made by the Gangseo outpost overnight patrol. The prosecuting Junior Inquisitor had charged him with Possession B and intent to sell, a sentence that garnered a maximum of ninety years in the prisons of Idris._

_“Intent to sell?” Namjoon scoffed. “Eager little shit, isn’t she?” Three hundred centigrams was_ _hardly enough for the charges to be bumped up from misdemeanor possession to a felony, let alone to justify tacking on intent to sell. According to the report, Mr. Im’s prior record and ‘suspicious behavior’ were evidence enough for an indictment._

_“So, Mr. Hak. Explain to me what happened. Because I have to admit, Junior Inquisitor Han could make a compelling case with this.”_

_“S’nothing to say.”_

_“Really? Because unless I’m mistaken, a vampire doesn’t really have much use for a drug made from vampire venom.”_

_“You won’t believe the truth, just like that other defense attorney.”_

_“To be frank, Mr. Hak, my job isn’t as concerned with the truth as it is with keeping this Junior Inquisitor from screwing you over. The truth is malleable. I don’t care if you’re guilty or innocent. I just need something I can work with.”_

_“... I was holding onto it for someone. I know with my rap sheet it doesn’t look great, but I swear I’m outta that business. Shit almost got me killed once, so I’d hafta have half a brain to go back in again.”_

_Namjoon looked down at his legal pad to write down notes. “Good. Can anyone vouch for that?”_

_“No one who’d be willing to admit as much in front of an Arbiter.”_

_“So all we have to go on is your word.”_

_“See? Told you, there’s no point. I shoulda just taken the deal when that Junior Inquisitor offered it.”_

_Namjoon looked up from his notes. “J.I. Han offered you a deal?”_

_“Yeah. Plead guilty to the charges and express my ‘remorse’, and the Arbiter would go easy on my sentence, maybe do forty, fifty years. Go to trial and she’d make it her ‘personal mission’ for me to get the max. The other defense attorney told me to take the deal, which is when Weylie called you, I guess. Fat lot of good it’s gonna do.”_

_“Weylie was absolutely right to talk to Seokjin. Have you ever once gone to trial with your prior convictions, Mr. Hak?”_

_Hak shook his head._

_“I’ll let you in on a little secret. J.I.s like to talk big; they throw a bunch of charges and fancy legal words at you to scare you into pleading guilty so that_ they _don’t have to go through the trouble of having to prove your guilt. Many Downworlders, such as yourself, think there’s no point in fighting the charges, especially given the pathetic excuse for defense attorneys the Institute usually straps you with._

_“So you plead guilty and nip your chances in the bud before they have a chance to see the light of day.”_

_“And_ — _what_ — _you gonna be my knight in shining armor? Swoop in and save me?”_

_“If you’re extra good, I’ll even give you a kiss.”_

_Mr. Hak broke first, chuckling_ _hoarsely_ _and unfolding somewhat from his cramped position._

_“You really think you can help me?”_

_“I won’t promise any miracles, Mr. Hak. But I can certainly do better than five decades in prison.”_

_“That confident?”_

_“I’m good at what I do,” stated Namjoon simply. “Let’s talk more about this friend you were holding the yin fen for.”_

Jungkook looked back and forth between the two warlocks, incredulous. They discussed the idea of letting a criminal walk free like it was just another day in the office. 

“I have some statements to take from the arresting Shadowhunters and leads to track down to verify Hak’s story, but on the whole, I’m optimistic. J.I. Han’s evidence for the intent to sell charge is weak, and that’s the part Arbiters really give a shit about. He won’t get off with a slap on the wrist; however, he won’t get the maximum,” finished Namjoon Kim, after relaying the events of his meeting.

Jungkook knew he should have kept his mouth shut—antagonizing them was potentially the least effective way to get them to lower their guard and share information—yet the questions burned at the tip of his tongue. 

“I don’t understand,” he interrupted. “If he’s guilty, why are you defending him? That deal was a generous offer.”

“Generous?” Namjoon exclaimed. “How ‘bout I lock you up for fifty years and you see just how _generous_ it feels when you get out?” 

Jungkook could feel High Warlock Kim’s neon blue eyes on him. “That’s an unfair comparison. The average lifespan of Shadowhunter is seventy years, if we’re lucky. Vampires, warlocks, and Seelie can live for centuries or millennia. What’s a couple decades compared to that?”

Seeing that Namjoon was becoming more worked up, High Warlock Kim decided to intervene to try to diffuse the brewing hostility around the dinner table. “What if Mr. Hak were to finish his sentence only to die not long after? What if he died in prison? Blood withdrawal is trying on vampires, no matter how disciplined they are. Jungkook, just because we can _theoretically_ live forever, it doesn’t mean we won’t die. Does it seem fair to you that the Clave should be allowed to take what could be a significant part of our lives for a mistake?” 

Jungkook shook his head. “You could make the same argument if Hak were a Shadowhunter. It’s _proportional_. A Shadowhunter accused of dealing _yin fen_ would be facing as severe a sentence and—in your hypothetical scenario—could also die not long after being released.”

“Do you know that for sure?” wondered Namjoon. He had long since abandoned the remaining noodles stuck to the bottom of his bowl. The singular chopstick between his slim fingers spun like a dagger and a warning. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Do you _know_ that a Shadowhunter would get the same sentence? Or are you just assuming?”

“Of course they would,” said Jungkook. _What an asinine question_. “The law does not discriminate between those who break it.” 

High Warlock Kim’s expression confounded Jungkook. Instead of offended or upset, he looked like he felt _sorry_ for Jungkook. As if Jungkook were the one in need of his sympathy. It irked him, the way they both talked down to him like he too stupid or sheltered to understand the ways of their world. 

He understood, truly, where Namjoon Kim’s frustration on behalf of his fellow Downworlder came from; at first glance, the Clave’s punishment could seem harsh to some. But it was a _necessary_ deterrent to control the rampant drug trade in East Asia. _Yin fen_ , in particular, was highly addictive and could _kill_ a weaker person after just a few uses. Extreme measures were needed to ensure the safety of Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike. 

However, just because Jungkook could understand Namjoon’s anger, he wouldn’t accept his actions. “Xeno Hak isn’t some down-on-his-luck first time offender, nor is he like that other warlock who supposedly had no choice—”

“Who?” Namjoon interrupted. 

“My earlier appointment. I will tell you about it over dessert.”

Jungkook steamrolled over their mumblings. “He is a convicted criminal who has squandered his chance at freedom by making yet another wrong choice without considering the consequences for himself or others. He was arrested with _yin fen_ on him, end of story. It doesn’t matter that technically it may have belonged to someone else, or that he _claims_ to have gotten out of the drug business. The law is clear. He had the _yin fen_ on him and was charged as such by the Inquisitor. Mercy is the last thing he deserves.” 

For a long minute, Namjoon Kim and the High Warlock seemed to have a silent conversation with their eyes until the invisible impasse was bypassed, and the High Warlock gave in with a sigh. 

“Jungkook,” he began again. Something in his voice had changed. Gone was the patient, almost professorial-like cadence, and in its place was something … wound tighter. Like a rubber band stretched to its limit. Even Namjoon Kim seemed to notice, body language attuned to the High Warlock, waiting. 

“We are not saying Xeno Hak is a saint. I myself have friends who battled addiction in the past, and I know exactly just how devastating _yin fen_ can be. But Xeno Hak’s situation _cannot_ warrant the punishment’s severity. He made an ill-advised decision and, unfortunately, happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Neither you nor I nor any Arbiter at the Institute has the right to condemn him for that.” 

High Warlock Kim rose slowly from his chair until he looked down on Jungkook, although he didn’t seem to be aware of what he was doing. Namjoon Kim sat up straighter in his chair, preparing to intervene if needed. 

“How can Namjoon defend a criminal, you ask? The answer is deceptively simple. Every person tried in the Clave’s court, whether that be a Downworlder or a Shadowhunter, has the right to sound counsel. Article 5 Section A.1 of the Accords. That means every alleged thief, drug dealer, vandal, and yes, even every murderer gets that right. 

“Before the 1907 Accords there was no jury, there was no trial. A Downworlder accused was a Downworlder executed. That right to a trial and counsel represents something we did not possess until very recently: a presumption of innocence. _That_ is what Namjoon is defending—”

“Jin,” murmured Namjoon. He didn’t have to raise his voice to get the High Warlock’s attention. “Ease up. He gets it.” Jungkook found it somewhat ironic that Namjoon Kim was the one to come to his defense after being the first to disagree with him. 

Tension vibrated in the air as High Warlock Kim suddenly became aware that he was looking over Jungkook. Or maybe it was magic vibrating the air. Was it Jungkook’s imagination, or could he hear storm-ridden sea waves churning and frothing as close as if they were in his ear? 

High Warlock Kim exhaled shortly through his nose. Slowly, Jungkook removed his hand from the stele at his waistband. 

“I … apologize,” said the warlock. “There is no excuse for losing my temper.”

“It’s fine,” replied Jungkook, like his heart wasn’t thundering in his chest. He wanted to believe that High Warlock Kim wouldn’t hurt him, but all his instincts screamed to put more distance between himself and an imminent danger. “I’m also sorry that I touched on a sore point.” 

“‘Sore,’ he says,” laughed Namjoon. “Listen, kid—”

“Kid?” echoed Jungkook in disbelief. 

“—Clearly, we’re gonna continue to disagree about this, so let’s just move on before someone gets stabbed.”

“I was not going to _stab_ him,” High Warlock Kim protested. 

“Who said I was talking about you?” Namjoon’s eyes flashed down to Jungkook’s stele, only visible from his side of the table. 

_So much for not antagonizing anyone_ , thought Jungkook. _That’s a great strategy, pissing off your charge until he breaks his mysterious vow of non-violence to turn you inside out with a flick of his fingers_. 

An urgent need to extract himself from the situation washed over Jungkook. “Uhm—” He stood abruptly from the table, pushing back his chair. “I should go … meditate. In my room. Alone. Sorry, again.” He snatched up his empty bowl and hurried in a very distinguished manner up the creaky staircase. He wasn’t fast enough to escape the whispered question:

“Did he just take his bowl to his room?” 

“Strange. I have never seen him that flustered before.” 

Once in his room, Jungkook tossed the empty bowl onto his nightstand with a sardonic laugh. It seemed rude to leave High Warlock Kim to clean up after his mess, but taking the bowl to the sink and washing it _before_ fleeing to his room didn’t seem like it would have made for a very speedy exit, so he’d taken it with him. Contrary to High Warlock Kim’s comment, Jungkook wasn’t flustered either, just … confused. And awkward. He never should have agreed to that dinner in the first place. 

Even when they were bickering, the level of friendship and intimacy displayed between Namjoon Kim and the High Warlock made Jungkook keenly aware of every way in which he was an intruder in this place. He did not belong at that table, playing a sorry attempt at spy, nor did he belong to this type of world where sins had degrees and some things were considered less horrible than others. 

Before being injected into the High Warlock’s world, Jungkook’s life fell easily into neat categories. He protected mundanes from demons, who were evil; therefore, Jungkook was doing good. He acted on behalf of the Clave and captured Downworlders who breached their laws because it was the right thing to do. 

Laws meant order. Laws meant balance. Laws were what prevented people from dying and getting hurt. Laws kept their world together while forces of evil tried to rip it apart. Every action, whether good or bad, needed its consequence. This was undisputable. Jungkook had learned that well at the Academy. 

And yet.

High Warlock Kim’s unshakeable conviction, the absolute certainty with which he spoke what he believed to be the truth, made Jungkook begin to second-guess those beliefs. He was certain that Xeno Hak was a criminal who had committed morally questionable acts for selfish reasons, and that criminals deserved to be punished according to the law. High Warlock Kim was equally certain of the exact opposite. Could Jungkook say with total confidence that he knew better than someone who’d been alive for 700 years?

A nebulous sense of unease settled over Jungkook. He had never stopped to consider where Downworlders ended up after he made an arrest; it wasn’t his job to because he was bred for war. Universal ethics and morality, wide-sweeping legislation and statecraft, questions like those were always beyond his reach. So why did he find himself questioning their way of life now? 

Jungkook knew what his teachers would say and what Hyuntae would say: _sed lex, dura lex_ . He _had_ to trust that the Clave knew what they were doing. He couldn’t comprehend the alternative. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xeno Hak's sentence is based on New York drug law, with some adjustments for the fact that vampires are immortal and that yin fen is much deadlier than cocaine, heroine, or weed.
> 
> i realize we're coming up very quickly on the "ending" of this first story, however I'd like to think of it as more of a beginning. You might have noticed that this work is part of a series, so I have at least one but possibly two more works planned after this one. If the sequel to this fic interests you, feel free to subscribe to the series to get a notif for when I update but fair warning, it'll probably be a while. 
> 
> otherwise, hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/seokjjinnie98) if you want


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